The Downside to Being Steward
by Mina-chan AMD
Summary: The perks of being steward don't compensate for the worst part... Please R&R!
1. Spensorio

Mina: My sister and I wanted to collaborate on a story and we came up with this funny idea together. We hope you enjoy it.

Nari: We don't mean any offense to people who have lisps, buy life insurance, or buy lotto tickets. This is purely meant to be humorous and not hurtful or offensive in any way.

Disclaimer: We do not own Lord of the Rings.

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**Blah-** lisp part

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Denethor sat in the throne room of Minas Tirith, bored out of his mind. The worst part of his day was about to begin. No, it wasn't hearing his six-year-old son, Faramir's pleading to spend time together; that was the second worst. The worst part of his day was listening to the whining and simpering of the people of Minis Tirith complaining about some insignificant event in their mundane lives that he couldn't care less about.

He sighed as he looked at the time. To one of the guards he said, "Bring in the first miserable complainer."

The guard nodded and opened the doors and in walked an old man. He was skinny and bony with a wrinkled, weather beaten face and tattered, patched up rags for clothes. He was slightly hunched over and used a gnarled wooden cane as a walking stick. Contrary to what you may be thinking right now, this man was not Gandalf, to which Denethor was greatly relieved about.

The man approached Denethor, slowly. Time slowed to a crawl in Denethor's mind and it seemed to take ages for him to move one inch. Finally, the man reached Denethor. With a lopsided grin, he attempted to straighten himself and looked Denethor straight in the eye.

"State your name." Denethor said in a bored drawl.

"**Sp**en**s**orio, **s**on of **Sp**a**tz**on." Spensorio, the old man said. With every "s", "p", and "t" Spensorio said, spit flew from his mouth and onto Denethor's face, causing him to flinch.

Wiping the spit from his face with a grimace of disgust, Denethor said, "Okaaaay. What is your complaint?" He resumed his bored drawl.

"Well, **th**e roo**f** **f**ell in on my hou**s**e. And la**st** nigh**t** i**t** rained and I go**t** we**t**."

"And why can't you fix it?"

"Well, I **sp**ent all of my money on lo**tt**o **t**i**ck**e**ts** and li**f**e in**s**urance. And wi**th** **th**e re**st**, I bough**t** my **s**on **s**erving in **th**e **s**ervice a new **sh**iny **s**ui**t** of armor."

Denethor wiped the spit off of his face from that last monsoon of spit before asking, "And what do you want me to do it."

"I want re**st**i**t**u**t**ion for **th**e money **th**a**t** I **sp**en**t**."

"Granted." Denethor said, all too relieved to get rid of the spitting menace. "How much did you spend?"

"**Th**ree hundred **th**ir**t**y **th**ree **th**ou**s**and **six** hundred **th**ir**t**y **th**ree gondorian**s**(1)."

Denethor grimaced and wiped the flood of spit off of his face. "Very well. You will receive your restitution. Leave now."

Spensorio smiled. "**Th**ank you, **St**eward." He said before he was dragged out of the room.

Once Spensorio was forcibly extracted from the room, Denethor groaned and wiped the remaining spit from his face. "What was that lisp all about?" He asked one of his advisors.

"I believe that's what they call a 'Minis Tirith Lisp.'"

Denethor groaned and massaged his temples. "This is going to be a long day."

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(1)- We didn't know what the currency was for Gondor was, so we made one up. If anyone knows what it really is, please tell us and we'll change it.

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Mina and Nari: Please R&R!


	2. Illiya

Disclaimer: We do not own Lord of the Rings. Also, we do not mean offense to anyone in any way in any of our chapters.

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Denethor regained his bored expression and said in a monotone voice, "Send in the next person."

The guards opened the door and a young woman entered. Her brown eyes were bloodshot, red, and puffy. Her brown hair was messy and very tangled. She was wringing a handkerchief with her hands and there were tear streaks down her face and every once in a while, she admitted a sad little hiccup.

In a low, sarcastic voice, Denthor said to his advisor, "This should be interesting." The advisor rolled his eyes.

To the woman, Denethor said, "State your name."

"I-Iliya." The woman stammered. She emitted another sad hiccup.

"And what is your complaint?" Denethor drawled.

Suddenly, Iliya burst into tears and fell to her knees at Denethor's feet. She grabbed his robes and started crying into them. Denethor's eyes bulged in surprise.

"What is your complaint?" He repeated, slightly annoyed that Iliya was soiling his perfectly good robes.

She cried into his robes for a few more minutes and then calmed down enough to speak. "Well, my boyfriend, Spensorio II, son of Spatzon II, son of Spensorio, son of Spatzon, son of…"

"I get the point." He said, cringing at Spensorio's name. "What did your boyfriend do?"

"HE BROKE UP WITH ME!" She wailed, wringing Denethor's robes. "HE BROKE UP WITH ME, TOOK ALL OF MY MONEY, AND THEN RAN OFF WITH MY BEST FRIEND!"

Denethor raised his eyebrows. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

"I want you to arrest…"

"Your boyfriend?" Denethor drawled, guessing what she was going to say.

"No!" Said Iliya. "I want you to arrest my no-good dirty, rotten, boyfriend-stealing ex-best friend, Clotia!"

Denethor raised his eyebrows even higher. "Under what charges? Your friend has violated no law of Gondor. It is your boyfriend we could arrest."

"She probably talked him into it. Besides she did steal something from me, MY BOYFRIEND!" She burst into another set of tears, blowing her nose on Denethor's robes, causing him to flinch and his eye to start to twitch.

Suddenly, amidst Iliya's tantrum, the hall doors banged open and a handsome young man walked in and walked up to Denethor.

"I didn't call for the next person yet!" Denethor snapped. "Get back outside and go to the back of the line!"

But he did not respond to Denethor. Instead, he turned to Iliya. "I'm sorry I ever left you, Iliya, my one true love, my light in the darkness, my fair flower in the winter, my sunshine in the rain, my most precious gem, my…"

"SILENCE!" Denethor yelled.

But the man who was now obviously Spensorio II did not heed and continued to speak. "… I shouldn't have done that. But now I'm back and that's all that matters. And I have your money." He pressed it into Iliya's hand.

Iliya said. "Oh, Spensorio, my love!" She opened her arms.

Spensorio II said, "Oh, Iliya, my love!" He embraced her.

"Oh, my stomach!" Denethor said, always knowing how to ruin a tender moment.

However, the renewed couple did not hear him, for they were walking out the door, hand in hand.

Denethor turned to his advisor and gesturing to his soaking robes said, "Bring me a change of robes."

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Mina and Nari: Please leave lots of reviews! 


	3. Help! I'm being chased by ravenous dogs!

Disclaimer: We do not own the Lord of the Rings. This story is not meant to be offensive in any way to anybody, it is purely meant to be humorous entertainment.

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Denethor returned to the throne room and sat on the throne again after changing into dry robes after Iliya's water works display. "Send in the next person." He droned.

A panicked man with clothes that were badly torn, covered in dog slobber, and had some foam on them that could possibly be from a dog that had rabies hurriedly entered. As soon as he entered the hall, he quickly slammed the doors. On the other side of the door rabid barks, growls, and scratches on the door could be heard.

"State your name." Denethor said in his typical bored drone, oblivious to everything that was going on around him.

"Help me! I'm being chased by ravenous dogs!" The man cried out, ignoring Denethor's question.

"And what is your complaint?" Denethor said, not even realizing that the man had not given a name.

"I'm being chased by ravenous dogs!"

"And what do you want me to do about it?"

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MAN, I'M BEING CHASED BY RAVENOUS DOGS!" The man yelled.

"Granted. Now, guards, please escort this man out." Denethor said his standard line, acting like a tape recording going through its track.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" the man screamed at the top of his lungs in hysteria. "DON'T OPEN THE DOORS! YOU'LL LET THE DOGS-"

But by then it was too late. Denethor's guards opened the doors to the hall and a pack of rabid, crazed dogs lunged into the hall, barking and growling.

"…in…" The man said in a defeated tone.

As soon as the dogs spotted the man, they got a malicious look in their eyes and began to pursue the man, who emitted a high-pitched scream and started to run away. He ran up and hid behind Denethor's throne.

The dogs continued their beeline but their target had changed to Denethor. Denethor, now realizing what had transpired, gave a frightened yelp and jumped out of his throne and ran away from the dogs, yelling to the dim-witted guards, "You idiots! Why'd you let the dogs in! You're fired! You're all fired!"

The dogs began to jump on Denethor and began to use him as a chew-toy, tearing up his stately new robes and leaving bite-marks on his skin.

"Guards!" Denethor yelled. "Get these beasts off of me!"

"But we're fired!" One of the guards said.

"Well, you're un-fired! Now, come get these beasts off of me!" Denethor yelled.

The guards restrained the dogs. At this point, a man entered the room, out of breath. He put his hands on his knees and breathed heavily for a few moments before he spoke. "I'm from the GAC, Gondorian Animal Control. I've chasing these dogs all over the city, all day, through all seven levels of Minas Tirith. And now you've caught them for me, and I can take them off to be ki-" He paused, seeing a small, six-year-old boy (Faramir) peaking in on the scene from the entrance to the hall. He resumed his sentence. "…to be sent off to the happy place where all little doggies, good or bad, get to go and play there for ever and ever."

Denethor gave the man an odd look. "You know, nobody here is too juvenile for the truth. If you're going to kill them, just say so." A small gasp was heard by the adjacent front doors, but Faramir was careful enough to pull his head back before anyone noticed him.

"Right…" Said the man. He knocked out the dogs, put them in a sack, and carried them away. The man who had been chased by the dogs followed him, leaving Denethor alone in the room with his guards and advisor.

To his advisor, he said, "Bring me another change of robes." As an afterthought, he added, "And a rabies shot."

"Yes, sir." The advisor said.

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Nari: Yay! We got a reviewer! (party music plays and balloons descend) Whooo!

Mina: Thank you, _Lady of Gondor_, for being our first and only reviewer!

Nari: Yeah, thank you so much!

Mina: We would really appreciate if our other readers for this reviewed, whether they're saying good or bad things. It doesn't matter to us, we just want reviews!

Mina and Nari (Nari: Why is it always Mina and Nari? Why can't it be Nari and Mina?): Please leave lots of reviews!

Nari: Seriously, why can't it be Nari and Mina?

Mina: This is alphabetical!

Nari: Right… :P


	4. Faramir and the Scribe

Disclaimer: See previous chapters.

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After Denethor changed his robes and got his rabies shot he sat back in his Steward's chair and told the re-instated guards to open the doors to let the next person in.

A very familiar six-year-old boy walked in.

"State your name." Denethor drawled, resuming his, 'bored out of mind Steward' mode.

"Faramir… your son." Six-year-old Faramir said.

"And what is your complaint?"

"You don't spend enough time with me."

"And what do you want me to do about it?"

"Play with me."

"Granted. Guards, take him away."

"But you said you'd spend time with me!" Faramir said as the guards started to drag him away and tears welled up in his eyes. "You promised you'd play with me!"

Denethor snapped out of his 'bored out of mind Steward' mode. "Oh. It's you." He said to Faramir. "I said nothing of the sort."

The scribe who was there to record the occurrences in these hearing interrupted. "Actually, you did, sir. I have it written down right here." He gestured to the sheet of paper he was writing on. "I record every word that's said in here." He said. "Including my own." He said as he scribbled what he had just said down onto the sheet of paper, furiously, but in the middle of writing, he said, "How do you spell 'here'?"

Denethor twitched and grabbed the sheet of paper from the scribe, who cried out in protest. He took the scribe's pen and wrote down 'here' on the paper. He then read over it and sighed, handing it back to the scribe. In answer to Faramir's question, he said, "Very well, but not right now. I'm very busy."

"Promise?" Faramir said.

"Yes," Denethor said, crossing his fingers, his legs, and anything else he could inconspicuously cross, "I promise."

"Okay." Faramir said, not noticing the lie in his Father's eyes. "I'll leave." And he happily walked out of the room, thinking that he had finally gotten his way.

"Sucker." Denethor muttered.

"What was that, Dad?" Faramir said, poking his head back in the room.

"Nothing!" Denethor said.

"Actually, he said-" The scribe began to say, but Denethor covered the scribe's mouth with his hand and said, "You're fired."

"Oh, man!" the scribe said, "I guess it's back to the traveling circus for me. My mother, the bearded lady, will be so disappointed!" The scribe took out three random juggling balls and juggled as he walked out.

Denethor sighed and said to his advisor, "Get me some aspirin… and a new scribe."

* * *

Mina and Nari: It's time to thank our reviewers!

Mina: Oh no! We're talking in unison!

Nari: Whoa! Creepy.

Mina: Anyway… thanks go out to…

_Lady of Gondor- We're glad you found it funny! We're not really sure how we come up with these things… they just kinda come to us. Thanks for reviewing!_

_jules14- Thanks for the compliments and the review!_

Nari: Also, before we stop writing, I just wanted to ask anyone who's interested to please read a story that I wrote. It's called: Stranded. It's a humor fic about the LotR.

Mina: You talk too much.

Nari: Yeah, it's my job!

Mina: --U

Mina and Nari: Please leave lots of reviews!

Nari: You know that talking in unison thing is really getting creepy.


	5. Gus the Gassy

Disclaimer: Oh, for the love of taters, just look back at the other chapters!

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After the eager and young new scribe had arrived and Denethor had taken his aspirin to soothe his migraine, he was ready to see the next person.

"Send in the…" Denethor couldn't finish his sentence for a foul stench had wafted to his nostrils and had instigated a coughing fit. "Quick! ... Open… the… windows!" He said between coughing spasms.

The guards and the maids in the hall shrieked in terror and scrambled around, trying to open all of windows in time while holding wet rags over their noses and mouths to protect themselves from the awful stench.

Only after all of the windows had been opened did the guards open the hall doors.

A ridiculously rotund man stepped into the hall. As he entered, the door guards passed out on the floor. The man looked at them for a moment and shrugged, not noticing the foul odor he was emitting.

He then strode up to Denethor, who still gagging, coughing, and gasping for fresh air. Denethor did not get a chance to ask his standard question between his coughs.

"I am Gusuvius Gastricus Odorio Bodorion Pooticus Garlicus Gludios Olfacior Obolere…" he paused to take a deep breath. "son of Bregalad Cirion Lagduf Hama…"

Denethor held up a hand. "Enough!" He gasped. "I… already… know… who… you… are… Gus." He managed to sputter.

"You know, Steward," Gus said, "you should really do something about that cough. You have it every time I come to see you." Then, he looked at the unconscious door guards. "And you should really get more vigilant guards."

"Well, they don't call you Gus the Gassy for nothing." Denethor muttered to himself.

"What was that, sir?" Gus asked.

"Nothing!" Denethor quickly responded. "Now, what is your complaint this time? Or are you here to report on your fighting lessons with Boromir?"

"Well, he still refuses to take off that gas mask. If I've told him once, I've told him a thousand times, you don't need a gas mask in a real battle; orcs don't smell that bad. So there's no need to wear it while practicing."

"Well, Gus, is that it?" Denethor queried, attempting to disguise the hopeful note in his voice.

"No, sir." Gus said and passed wind. Denethor groaned and covered his nose. The scribe, who did not look so young and eager anymore, passed out, his face now resting in the wet ink.

"So what is it this time?" Denethor asked, his voice sounding slightly squeaky due to the fact that he still plugged his nose.

"I want a raise!" Gus exclaimed, raising both his arms in the air for emphasis. As soon as he did this, an even fouler stench flooded the room, making it smell of sweat mixed with Gus' natural bodily odors.

Denethor's advisor's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he passed out and fell to the floor with a loud thud. Gus looked confused at the man's unconscious body as well as the tears that had sprung into Denethor's eyes.

"Why are you crying, Steward?" Gus asked.

"You can put your arms down now, Gus." Denethor said, avoiding the question. Gus lowered his arms. Denethor then said, "Why do you need a raise? I pay you well enough."

"Well, you see, I need more money to buy the necessary quantities of beans," he passed wind, "cheese," he passed wind again, "onions, and garlic." He then bleched, loudly, emitting a new odor smelling strongly of onions and garlic. "Hearty eating, that is. 'Scuse me there."

Denethor clung to consciousness, fervently wishing that he had a gas mask. Tears were streaming down his face. "I'll give you a raise of 20,000 gondorians, 50,000 if you leave quickly."

Gus gave a huge smile.

"I can see you're quite happy about this, Gus. Remember, if you leave quickly, it's 50,000 gondorians." Denethor, the only conscious person left in the room, aside from Gus, said.

At this point, Gus passed a huge quantity of wind. Denethor let out an involuntary sob before the stench wafted over to him. The last thing Denethor remembered was hearing Gus say, "Thank you, sir," and passing wind in time to his steps as he exited the hall.

Denethor's last thought was, '_Gee, we really need to re-decorate the floor in here._'

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Boromir, still wearing his coveted gas-mask that he used for his lessons, headed for his Father's hall. Just as he got to the hall's doors the man, who was lamentably his instructor, exited the hall. Gus the Gassy beamed at Boromir.

"Hey there, Boromir." He said. "Do you wear that thing everywhere?" He pointed at the gas mask.

Boromir nodded.

Gus smiled, again, letting a small wind fly. "Well, I'll see you at our next lesson."

"I can't wait." Boromir muttered sarcastically under his breath so that Gus could not hear.

Gus walked away, passing wind in time to his steps. Boromir heard Gus mutter, "Odd kid. I guess it's true about the saying of the apple not falling far from the tree."

Boromir rolled his eyes and opened the hall doors, feeling the rush of bad air passing by. The gas-mask spared him from the foul scent. Scattered on the floor were the unconscious forms of various guards and maids. At the far end, he could see the unconscious bodies of the scribe, the advisor, and Denethor.

Boromir ran over and shook Denethor, occasionally slapping his face. Denethor's eyes fluttered open. Boromir then said, "He's gone. Which air-freshener do you want this time? I have mango passion," he held up an orange, mango-shaped air-freshener, "or ocean breeze." He held up another oddly colored, named, and shaped air-freshener.

"Both." Denethor said.

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Mina and Nari: We hoped that you all enjoyed this chapter.

Nari: Thanks to everyone who reviewed for the last chapter.

Mina: We really appreciate the feedback.

Mina and Nari: Please leave lots of reviews!


	6. Boromir

Disclaimer: Yeah… see the other chapters!

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Once everyone had regained consciousness and both air fresheners had been placed in the places of the room where they'd have the fullest effect, Denethor was ready to see the next person.

"Next!" Denethor yelled in a bored tone.

Boromir, who was still in the room, cleared his throat.

"I said, next!" Denethor, the biggest oblivion on the face of the Earth, yelled.

Boromir coughed loudly.

"COME ON, YOU LAZY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING GUARDS, BRING IN THE NEXT PERSON!" Denethor yelled.

Boromir broke into a loud coughing spasm.

"You know, son, you should really think about going to the Houses of Healing for that cough."

"Oh, for pity's sake, Father! I'm the next person!" Boromir cried out.

"Really? What do you have to complain about? I give you everything you want."

"Well… um…"

"What is it, son?"

"I hate having to wear this gas-mask to all of my fighting lessons," he said, gesturing to the mask that he was still wearing, "it sometimes gets in the way."

"Well, then, just take it off. Nobody said you had to wear it." Denethor responded.

"Do you think it wise to take it off during my lessons, considering who my instructor is and how matters only worsen when he sweats? You saw what he did in here just after my lesson."

"Are you suggesting that I fire Gus?"

"Yes."

"But he's the best swordsman in all of Gondor and I want you to be better than that. After all, this is the man who was able to slay a half an army of Orcs with one mighty blow of his sword."

Boromir snorted. "Swordsmanship had no part in that. Do you know how long he's been trying to get me on his 'Swordsman's Diet'?" Boromir queried. "Do you really want the next Steward of Gondor to be known as Boromir the Biohazard, the man who was able to slay an entire army of Orcs and his own army with one uplifting of his arm and a cry of, 'CHARGE!'? Do you, Father?"

"Are you implying that the only reason Gus was able to slay half an army of Orcs was because of his bodily odor and his dietary habits?"

"Yes. Honestly, Father, did you really think his sword was that big? Besides, why else would I still be wearing this mask?"

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad in here. In fact," Denethor paused to sniff the air, "it smells like a tropical island filled with mangoes, gently scented with the smell of the sea…" Denthor took another whiff and almost gagged. "… located right next to a landfill the size of Rohan."

"I thought Rohan was a landfill."

"Who told you that?" Denethor asked in shock.

"My tutor, Bob the Bumbling. He pointed to Rohan on the map and told me it was, 'Rohan, The Landfill.'"

"What did he call the land next to Rohan?"

"He called it, 'Land of the Horse Lords.'" Boromir responded. Then, in a sudden outburst, "Father, it's not fair!"

"What's not fair?"

"Faramir gets Grace the Gorgeous as his tutor while I'm stuck with Bob the Bumbling, the short, fat, practically blind old man! It's no wonder that I don't like to learn and he does! For pity's sake, she's gorgeous!"

"Fine, then, I shall fire Bob the Bumbling and replace him with Grace the Gorgeous, giving Faramir Ted the Tubby, as I've heard him called."

"Thank you so much, Father! But there's still the matter of Gus…"

"I shall send someone to fire him immediately."

"Thanks!" Boromir gave Denethor a quick hug. Then, he took off his gas mask, gagged, and quickly put it back on. He exited the room, still wearing the gas mask.

Denethor said to his advisor, "Send someone to fire Bob, then Gus."

"Why that specific order?" His advisor asked.

"I'm afraid Bob would never receive his message if Gus came first."

* * *

Mina: We hope everyone found this chapter just as funny as the last one.

Nari: We would like to thank everyone who reviewed for the last chapter. We really appreciated it!

Mina and Nari: Please leave us lots of reviews so we know how we're doing!


	7. Steve the Sweaty and Gandalf

Disclaimer: How many times do we have to say it?! See the previous chapters!

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"I have a special mission for you." Denethor said to his best messenger, who stood before him, sweating.

"Yes, sir? What is it?" Asked Steve the Sweaty, as he was called by many, including Denethor, behind his back.

"I need you to deliver two messages. Listen very carefully to my specific instructions, for you must follow them in the exact order that I tell you."

Steve the Sweaty nodded, breaking furthermore into a large sweat, getting sweat all over the marble floors.

Denethor slightly twitched, suddenly less sympathetic about sending him to his possible doom. "I need you to first deliver this message to Bob the Bumbling." Denethor handed Steve the Sweaty a sealed letter. "Then, after, and only after, you accomplish this, deliver this message to Gus the Gassy." Denethor handed a red letter to Steve the Sweaty.

Steve turned pale and sweated profusely, enlarging the puddle of his sweat. "Surely there must be another way, sir!"

Denethor shook his head. "No. I'm sorry."

Steve gulped, knowing the dangers of his mission. "Can I at least say goodbye to my wife and kids first, in case this mission claims my life?"

"Granted," Denethor, and being the cruel and heartless person he is, he added, "But make it quick."

Steve nodded and scurried out of the room to prepare for his quest by saying goodbye to his wife and kids and to write his will.

"Send in the next person." Denethor told his guards, now finished with the brief hiatus of summoning Steve the Sweaty.

The doors opened and in walked an old man. He had a gray beard, gray bushy eyebrows, wore gray clothes and a gray hat, and had what appeared to be a walking stick. As he approached, Denethor groaned.

"What is it this time, Mithrandir?" He groaned. "I'm a very busy man! I have many important matters to attend to right now, and you're not even one of Gondor's citizens, so you have no right to intrude on this time that I have generously, out of the goodness of my heart…" at this, everyone in the hall including the guards, the maids, Boromir and Faramir, who were both spying on their father, and Gandalf, broke into uncontrollable laughter, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing!" They all replied, with the exception of Boromir and Faramir, who had sprinted out from their hiding place behind the doors, still laughing hysterically, and ran to their rooms before their presence was noticed by Denethor.

"Anyway…" Denethor said, returning to his rant, "… don't intrude on the time that I have generously," there was a snicker throughout the hall, "given to my citizens."

"But, Your Stewardness," Gandalf replied, "I have come to you on a matter of grave importance."

"What is it?"

"I require the use of your…"

"… library?" Denethor finished. "You know, Mithrandir, you don't have to ask for my permission every time you need it for something."

"No, that wasn't what I was going to say."

"Then, what were you going to say?"

"I require the use of your restroom facilities."

Denethor's mouth fell open and he twitched. "So let me understand this, you interrupted my session of complaints… just so you could ask to use the restrooms?"

"Yup."

"Well… um… your request is… um… granted…" Denthor said awkwardly. "Um… guards… please escort Mithrandir to the… um… restrooms…"

The guards rolled their eyes and dragged Gandalf out of the room in the direction of the restrooms.

Denethor turned to his advisor. "Give me my pillow."

"Sir, isn't that only for when we're done with these sessions?"

"No! I need it now!"

"If you say so…" The advisor handed Denethor the black pillow.

"Thank you." Denethor said, calmly. Then, the lowered his head to the pillow and let out a long, loud scream into it, which slightly muffled it. He did this for several more times until he screamed out all of his frustration. Then, with an overly calm expression, he handed his pillow back to his advisor.

At this point, the guards had returned from their task.

"Send in the next person." Denethor said.

The guards opened the hall doors and in came an old man. He had a gray beard, gray bushy eyebrows, wore gray clothes and a gray hat, and had what appeared to be a walking stick. Sound familiar?

Denethor twitched at the return of the wizard. He extended his hand and his advisor wordlessly handed over the pillow. Denethor smothered his renewed screams of anguish. It was days like today, when he saw Gandalf more than once, that he felt the urge to get some oil and set himself ablaze, like the heathen kings of Old.

Gandalf raised a cynical eyebrow at the Steward's antics, which were more bizarre than usual.

Once Denethor had finished screaming into his pillow, he lifted his head and in a calm, cool voice said, "What is it now Mithrandir? Why do plague me so?"

"I require the use of your…"

"What now?" Denethor said in a slightly hysterical voice. "The restrooms? The practice grounds? The Houses of Healing? The Banquet Hall?" Denethor began to giggle in hysteria; clearly he had snapped.

(A/N: With the hysterical giggling, for those of you who have seen the old Pink Panthers, specifically "The Pink Panther Strikes Again", picture Inspector Dreyfus' laughter when he sees Cloussaeu (sp?).)

"No. Your library."

Denethor twitched and continued to giggle in hysteria.

From their new hiding place, Faramir whispered to Boromir, "I think Father's gone crazy."

Boromir smiled sadly at how naive his brother was.

Denethor continued to twitch and giggle in hysteria. "Didn't you hear me the first time? I told you that you didn't have to ask every time you wanted to use it. Just go ahead and help yourself! Now, if that's all you have to say…"

"Actually, it's not." Gandalf said.

"Oh, heaven help me…" Denethor muttered and continued his hysterical giggling.

"I have a complaint…" Gandalf said.

Trying to restore some normalcy, Denethor said, "And what is your complaint?"

"The information in your archives is inadequate and incomplete. I cannot find the tome that I seek." Gandalf said.

Another spasm of hysterical giggling came over Denethor. "And what is the tome that my archives are lacking?"

"'Baby's First Book of Spells.'" Gandalf stated simply.

At this, more people in the hall started snickering in the accompaniment to Denethor's hysterical giggles.

"And what do you need that for?" Denethor asked.

"Uh…"

"Are you teaching someone?" Denethor prompted.

"Uh… You could say that."

"You'd better not be teaching my son any of that hocus-pocus, Mithrandir!" Denethor threatened. "He's already weird enough."

In their hiding place, Faramir sniffled and a tear silently fell down his cheek.

Boromir pulled his little brother into a hug. "Don't worry, Faramir!" He said, trying to cheer him up. "I'm sure he didn't mean it!"

"And I mean that from the bottom of my heart!" Denethor proclaimed. He had not heard either of his sons, but he just felt the need to say that.

"Uh…" Boromir said, trying to think of something, in their hiding place. "He probably wasn't referring to you. He's probably talking about me! I mean, come on, I wear gas-masks practically everywhere!" He wasn't, however, wearing one now.

"And when I say 'my son', I mean Faramir." Denethor added, to clarify to Gandalf. "Although I don't want you teaching Boromir that hocus-pocus anyway!"

At Denethor's last statement, Faramir started to wail into Boromir, soaking Boromir in tears. Luckily, Boromir served to smother Faramir's sobs enough so that Denethor could not hear them. However, at this point, he picked Faramir up and carried him out of the room before Denethor could say anything more to upset the child.

"I'm not going to be teaching your sons." Gandalf glanced around, nervously. "It's… uh… for a friend."

"Heaven help him, then." Denethor muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" Denethor said innocently. The young and now not-so-eager scribe started to open his mouth, but thought better of it, having heard the tale of his predecessor.

"Anyway, I, I mean, my friend will be very disappointed if I don't find it." Gandalf said.

Denethor sighed. "And what do you want me to do about this?" He said, once more trying to resume normalcy.

"I would like you to send someone to assist me in my search. The fate of Middle Earth rests on this matter. Someday I, I mean, my friend may need to know a spell that could assist me, I mean, my friend in saving Middle Earth."

"I see…" Denethor said with a hysterical giggle. "You do realize, though, that THERE'S A STINKIN' LIBRARIAN IN THE STINKIN' LIBRARY TO HELP YOU STINKIN' FIND YOUR STINKIN' BOOK! MAN!" Denethor yelled.

"Oh…" Gandalf said. "So there is… I could have done that… Huh…" Gandalf then walked out of the hall, deep in thought, by his standards.

When the Nitwit had left the room, Denethor collapsed into a fit of hysterical giggles and began to spasmodically twitch.

"Do you need your Gandalf dummy, sir?" Denethor's advisor asked.

"Yes."

The advisor went over to a red glass box containing a full-scale replica of Gandalf with a very dim-witted look on this face. In big, bold letters, the box read, 'IN CASE OF GANDALF, BREAK GLASS.'

The advisor broke the glass and dragged the Gandalf dummy in front of Denethor. Denethor stood up and drew his ceremonial sword. Everyone in the hall gulped in nervous anticipation of what was about to happen, keeping their distance from the crazed Steward and the Gandalf dummy.

Denethor let a crazed scream leap from his lips and proceeded to butcher the Gandalf dummy, ferociously stabbing and slashing it. He ended his tantrum by successfully decapitating the dummy's head with one mighty sweep of his sword. The head rolled on the ground and went to join its fallen brethren in a huge pile of Gandalf dummy heads.

"Do you feel better now, sir?" Asked the advisor, careful in keeping his distance from Denethor.

"Yes, much better. I think I'll be able to survive for another hour." Denethor sighed and sat down in his chair.

Just then, a death-bell tolled. Everyone in the hall, except Denethor, bowed their heads.

"So passes Steve the Sweaty, my brother." The advisor said in a mournful tone. "Sent to his death by the Steward of Gondor; killed by the fumes of Gus the Gassy."

"What are you talking about, man?" Said Steve the Sweaty as he re-entered the hall after having finished his errand. "I'm right here! Boromir lent me his gas-mask! He's a good kid!"

"Yes, he is," Denethor said. "He takes after his father!"

The rest of the hall was silent and everyone stared.

* * *

Nari: That's all we're writing for now! We hope you liked it!

Mina: We would like to thank all of our reviewers for the previous chapter!

Nari: Yeah!

Mina and Nari: Please leave lots of reviews!


	8. Bob the Bumbling

Disclaimer: Just look at a previous chapter!

* * *

The awkward silence ended when Steve the Sweaty left and Denethor called in the next person.

The doors opened and revealed a short, fat, and bald old man. He wore old and rather abused scholar's robes. His face was a perfect circle with two small, squinting, and beady eyes peering out of it.

As he walked in, he stumbled and tripped and it was clear that he was having a hard time seeing. After he fell flat on his face, he turned to face a bust of a woman.

"Um…" Denethor said.

"Hello, Steward, sir." The old man timidly said to the woman's bust. "I got your note. Why are you firing me?"

"Um… Bob?" Denethor said.

"Yes, Steward?" Bob said, still addressing the bust.

"I'm over here."

"Over where?"

"Turn to your right." Denethor instructed. Bob did so, hitting against the bust, toppling it to the ground. It shattered into thousands of tiny fragments.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" Bob cried as everyone in the hall gasped.

Denethor was rapidly twitching. "That… was my wife's bust! It was the only one made!" He was crying, now. "My love! My Finduilas! My preciousssss!" Denethor fell out of his chair and started twitching on the ground.

"I'm sorry, sir. Can't you just get another made?" Bob asked. "What's wrong? Does she not want to pose for the sculptor anymore?"

Denethor just continued his massive twitching spasm on the floor.

"Finduilas died." The advisor said to Bob.

"Dead? How? When?"

"A year ago! You were at her funeral! Don't you remember?" The advisor said.

"You mean that wasn't my wife's funeral?" Bob asked.

Denethor just continued to massively twitch on the ground, making strange noises. The advisor pondered whether he should call in the SBC (Steward Behavioral Control) to administer a sedative to calm Denethor down.

"Let me ask you something." The advisor said to Bob.

"Yes?" Bob asked.

"When was the last time you left your library?"

"Aside for the times when I left for funerals, when I occasionally visited my wife and kids, and right now… about fifty years ago, the day I got married."

The advisor felt a muscle in his face twitch and he put a hand on it to control himself. Apparently, craziness was contagious. That wasn't good; his insurance policy didn't cover craziness.

"Whatever. What is your complaint? It must have been something big to draw you out of your library." The advisor said, seeing that since Denethor was incapacitated, he might as well take over this session.

"I want to know why the Steward fired me." Bob stated, taking a few steps toward the advisor and bumping into a statue of Ecthelion, which toppled over and crushed a golden harp.

"That was a priceless Steinway!" Denethor cried out through his rapidly increasing twitching spasms.

"It was?" Bob turned and squinted at the wreck. "Oh well… Not anymore!"

"THAT WAS A PRICELESS STATUE OF ECTHELION II!" The advisor cried out. "HE WAS DENETHOR'S FATHER!"

"Oh. Well, why can't he just pose for another one?"

Denethor gave a slight insane giggle and he rapidly twitched.

"The reason Denethor is Steward is…" The advisor said, calmly. "…BECAUSE ECTHELION'S BLOODY DEAD, YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL! HE IS DECEASED, HE IS NO MORE, HE IS POKING UP DASIES!" The advisor felt the muscle in his face give another twitch. He really was going to have to see someone about that… "HOW COULD YOU NOT KNOW THIS, YOU WERE AT THE MAN'S BLOODY FUNERAL!"

"You mean that wasn't my father's funeral?" Bob said.

"Your father died fifty years ago!" The advisor fumed. "I mean, honestly, Father, can you be any dafter?"

"Oh, son, that's you?" Bob squinted. "Ah, yes, now I see."

The advisor slapped his forehead. "You should really get some glasses, Father."

"You didn't answer my question, son. Why is Denethor firing me?"

"Let's think about that for a moment… you taught Boromir that Rohan was a landfill, you're practically blind, you taught Boromir that the landfill next to Rohan was the 'Land of the Horse Lords', you're practically blind, you're incompetent, you're practically blind, you're a klutz, you're practically blind, you're bumbling, and you're practically blind!" The advisor yelled. Really, it was no small wonder that his mother had gotten a divorce from this bumbling lout.

"Oh… very well, then…" Bob said. "I'll be leaving then…" Bob turned around and tripped. Then, he headed for the doors and smacked into them. One of the guards sighed and escorted Bob out.

The advisor summoned his brother, Steve the Sweaty.

"What is it, brother?" Steve the Sweaty asked the advisor.

"I need you to go fetch the SBC. Tell them to bring two sedatives to the Steward's hall."

"Two?"

"He needs all the help he can get." The advisor gestured to the spasmodically twitching man on the floor, who was still lamenting the losses of Finduilas' bust and the priceless harp.

Steve nodded and left the room.

* * *

Mina and Nari: We would like to thank all of you who reviewed for the last chapter. Thanks a lot! Please leave lots of reviews! Also, please check out our story that we wrote about **Gus the Gassy**. It's called **'Bring Out the Secret Weapon'**. We will be posting chapter three very soon! 


	9. Imrahil and Gandalf

Disclaimer: If you don't know it by now… just look back at previous chapters.

* * *

Some time had passed after Steve the Sweaty's departure before the SBC arrived with the amount of requested sedatives, and several extra… just in case. As it turns out, the extras were needed to get Denethor calm and in a relatively normal state of mind.

The advisor then whispered something incomprehensible into the ear of the captain of the SBC squad, who nodded and then beckoned to his men, all of whom disappeared from sight.

The advisor then turned to Denethor and said, "Are you okay now, Lord Denethor? Can you continue?"

"I'll manage," Denethor replied. "Those sedatives helped me greatly. Perhaps I shall make it through the day." Denethor then turned to the guards and said, "Send in the next person."

In came a lordly man with sandy hair and blue eyes. He wore the colors of Dol Amroth.

"Imrahil! Brother-in-law! So good to see you! But, what are you doing here? This is the complaint session…" Denethor sat up in his chair, eagerly. "Have you come to help?"

Imrahil raised an eyebrow. "Help you? Heck, no! I've come to complain!"

Denethor's mouth dropped. "Complain? You? About what?" He said in a shocked voice.

"Well, it's about the rooms you have me quartered in for my stay," Imrahil replied.

"What's wrong with them?"

"No, my friend, the real question is… what's right with them?"

"What is your complaint about them?" Denethor snapped, already feeling as if the sedatives were wearing off on him as the muscle on his left side of his face began to spasmodically twitch.

"Well, to be honest, I find them inadequate and lacking of the hospitality that should be extended to a member of your council," Imrahil replied, simply, as if that clarified everything.

"How are they lacking?" Denethor asked, grinding his teeth together in an attempt to keep himself under control.

"Well, first of all…" Imrahil started.

"Oh no!" Denethor cried out, hitting a hand to his forehead. "Not a list!"

Imrahil blatantly ignored him, resuming his list. "… I don't like the atmosphere."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's too far from the sea and too close to Mordor," Imrahil replied.

"Is that it, then?" Denethor asked, hopefully.

"Oh heavens, no!" Imrahil replied. "I'm quite disturbed by the lack of complimentary soaps in my bathroom. What kind of an establishment are you running here when you don't give your esteemed guests the courtesy of having soap and a bath towel?" Denethor opened his mouth to interrupt, but Imrahil cut him off. "Wait! I'm not finished! I also find the room service to be quite incompetent and rude! When I received my food, it was a stale roll with moldy cheese in it and a note that said, 'SUCKER!'"

"You are indeed," Denethor murmured.

"What was that?" Imrahil asked.

"Nothing, dear brother-in-law!" Denethor quickly said. "You do realize, though, that this is not a hotel and that we don't _have_ room-service!"

"Oh man! That kid owes me fifty gondorians!" Imrahil exclaimed. "Oh, how I hate this city! It's no wonder my sister didn't like to be here!"

"But…" Denethor said, blankly. "Finny loved the city!"

Imrahil stared blankly at Denethor. "'Finny'?" He said.

"It's a pet-name." Denethor clarified.

"And did I hear you correctly? Did you say, 'Finny loved the city!'?"

"I did. Why?"

Imrahil burst out laughing. "That's a good one, Denny!"

"Did you just call me 'Denny'?" Denethor asked.

"Hey, well, you called my sister 'Finny'!"

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that, _Immy_!" Denethor retorted.

"Did you just call me Im-" It was then the Imrahil noticed the broken fragments that had once belonged to a bust. Realization suddenly dawned upon him. "YOU BROKE FINDY'S BUST? YOU _BROKE_ FINDY'S BUST! HOW COULD YOU BUST MY SISTER'S BUST?" He fumed.

"It was an accident…" Denethor weakly said. "Take it up with Bob the Bumbling…" He paused for a moment, and in after thought, he added, "Whoa! Did you just call my wife 'Findy'?"

"Yes. A brother is entitled to have a goofy and embarrassing nickname for his sister!"

"Okay… I didn't need to know that." Denethor said, and under his breath, he added, "Thank goodness I'm an only child!"

At that moment, there was a knock upon the doors.

"DON'T COME IN!" Denethor yelled. "IT'S NOT YOUR TURN!"

The doors creaked open and in walked Gandalf.

"I SAID, _DON'T_ COME IN! IT'S _NOT_ YOUR TURN!" Denethor shrieked at Gandalf.

"Oh. I'm sorry; I'm selectively deaf to negative terms, such as 'don't' and 'not'." Gandalf said, and then he noticed Imrahil. "Imrahil! So good to see you! What brings you here?"

"Oh, I was just complaining about my room. You see, there's something wrong with it."

Gandalf looked around nervously. "Was that before or after it spontaneously combusted?"

"Before." Imrahil said without a though. "Wait a moment! My room spontaneously combusted?"

Trying to divert the attention from that, Gandalf said. "Oh, I see that Fin's bust is broken. That's a shame. That was the only one, wasn't it?"

Denethor twitched and said, "Yes… it was! And must everyone have a nickname for my Finny?"

"…my Findy!" Imrahil corrected.

"…my Fin!" Gandalf corrected. Everyone stared at Gandalf. "What?" Gandalf said. "She was very close to me! You know, she was one of my best pupils… aside from Faramir, of course!"

"I THOUGHT YOU PROMISED THAT YOU WEREN'T GOING TO TEACH FARAMIR ANY OF THAT HOCUS-POCUS!" Denethor boomed.

"Oh… did I say 'Faramir'?" Gandalf said, sweating. "What I meant to say was 'Boromir'!" Denethor looked ready for murder. "Uh... I mean, uh… 'Some-random-guy-who-is-not-your-son-that-you-have-never-met-and-don't-care-about'!"

"Whatever." Denethor said. "I don't want to know. Who caused my brother-in-law's room to spontaneously combust?"

"Umm…" Gandalf said. "Well, I, I mean, my student, was learning from 'Baby's First Book of Spells' and one of the spells went amiss and I, I mean, my student, caused Imrahil's room to spontaneously combust!"

Denethor felt the last very tiny drop of sanity leave him. He giggled like a maniac and unsheathed his sword and began to run at Gandalf, screaming, "Kill! Kill! KILL!" Gandalf let out a girlish scream, but made no attempt to run.

Suddenly, a bunch of things happened at once. The room was suddenly filled with SBC members, who had jumped out from their hiding places (most of them had hid behind the huge statues), all holding straws with darts in them.

"FIRE!" Yelled the captain of the SBC at the same time that Denethor tripped on his robes and fell to the ground, nearly impaling himself on his own sword, and the advisor yelled, "DUCK!" as he hit the ground with Imrahil following suit.

"What? A duck? Where?" Gandalf said, beginning to look around.

The sound of darts being shot and simultaneously whizzing through the air and connecting with a target was heard. When everybody who had ducked (or tripped) looked up, they could all see a large number of sedative darts bristling from Gandalf and a huge smile was upon his face.

"Umm… Gandalf, are you okay?" Imrahil asked.

Gandalf still had the huge smile on his face. Then, he turned to face Denethor and spoke in a happy, sing-song voice. "It is not your place to deny the return of the King, Steward!" He then fell over backwards with his eyes still wide open and the big, goofy smile still in place on his face.

"Is he… dead?" Denethor asked, hopefully.

The advisor went over to Gandalf and passed a hand over the wizard's vacant stare. He then took Gandalf's pulse. "He's alive." The advisor said with relief. "He's just unconscious."

"I can change that!" Denethor cried, advancing on Gandalf with his sword held high.

The SBC members then fired several volleys of darts at Denethor, all of which found their target. After taking the hits, a huge, goofy, and slightly creepy smile spread across Denethor's face. "The rule of Gondor is mine and no other's!" Denethor said in a happy sing-song voice like the one Gandalf had used. He then fell over in a similar fashion to Gandalf's fall, so that everyone could see the creepy smile still plastered to his face.

The advisor, being reminded by what Denethor had said, placed a hand to his heart. "Oh mercy! We're going to have to put up with this loon for a long time!" The advisor swooned at the thought.

Gandalf then sat up and looked around, tranquilly. "You're in the service of the Steward now…!"

Everyone looked at Gandalf, fully disturbed. "What?" They said.

"Cherry-tomatoes!" Gandalf replied with a goofy smile.

"I think he's still suffering from those sedatives." Imrahil said. "Take him to the Houses of Healing."

A group of maids loaded Gandalf onto a stretcher and as he was being borne out, they heard him say, "Look for my coming... at first light on the fifth day… look to the East!"

"What?" They all exclaimed in confusion.

"Potatoes!" Gandalf cried out.

"Uh…" They all said.

"So… how long will that sedative have control of the Steward?" Imrahil asked an SBC member.

"Not long." He replied. "He'll be up and crazy in no time."

"Oh mercy!" The advisor cried out and sat down hard.

* * *

Mina: We're going to end this chapter here.

Nari: We'd like to thank everyone who reviewed for the previous chapter!

Mina and Nari: Please leave lots of reviews!


	10. Grace the Gorgeous and Faramir

Disclaimer: See other chapters.

* * *

It only took five minutes for the sedatives to wear off and for Denethor to be ready to see more complainers. 

"Send in the next person." Denethor said in his bored and detached I-really-wish-I-wasn't-here-right-now voice.

In came a woman. She had gorgeous silky raven black hair that refracted the light in a divine way. Her eyes were two perfect blue orbs that sparkled like two flawless sapphires and showed both depth and infinite intelligence. Her skin was flawless and was a creamy color. She had a perfect figure which was covered by a tight, silky, sapphire-colored dress. When smiling, her teeth were pearly white and perfectly straight and could raise the morale of an army of men. However, she was not smiling as she entered the room. Her delicate and perfect features were marred by a frown as she gracefully approached Denethor.

"My name is Gracella Mary-Sue Angelina Mary-Sue Arwina Mary-Sue Eowyna Mary-Sue Lily Mary-Sue Bonita Mary-Sue…" She began to say.

The advisor rolled his eyes at his younger sister. "He knows who you are, sis," He said, "You don't have to go through this whole spiel every time you come in to introduce yourself."

"Fine!" She replied, glaring at her brother.

Denethor ignored this and said, "Ah, Grace, so good to see you."

Grace looked to face Denethor straight in the eye. "Lord Denethor," She said in a perfect, crystal-clear voice.

"Grace, have you come to tell me about your first day tutoring Boromir?" Denethor asked.

"Report? No! I'm here to complain!" Grace said, putting her hands on her hips.

Denethor twitched. "Complain? What's there to complain about? Has Boromir been misbehaving?"

"No, he's a good kid." Grace replied. "It's just that he's… well… You see, I gave him a quiz to see how much my father had taught him and… well… see for yourself…" She took out a piece of paper and handed it to Denethor.

Denethor then proceeded to read the whole thing aloud. "Name: … Grace," Denethor re-read that in disbelief.

"You see, that's the saddest part," Grace said. "He got his own name wrong."

"That is… disturbing." Denethor said and then continued to read the quiz. "Number One: What is the capitol of Gondor? And he answered…" Denethor paused in disbelief. "…Grace."

"It gets worse," Grace said.

"Number Two: Who is the Steward of Gondor?" Denethor twitched. "He answered… Grace."

"And those were the easy questions," Grace commented.

Denethor gulped and gathered the courage to read on. "Number Three: Who cut the Ring from Sauron's hand to defeat him during the War of the Ring? And he answered: Grace."

"No need to read on, Steward," Grace said. "He answered 'Grace' for all of the other questions. You see… your son seems to be…" Grace paused, looking for the word.

"Going through puberty?" The advisor supplied.

"No…" Grace said. "I'd say… He was…"

"Smitten?" Imrahil supplied.

"No… I was going to say that he was… distracted…"

"Distracted?" Denethor asked. "What do you mean 'distracted'?"

"Well… after he flunked the quiz, I began to teach him. However, he just kept on giving me this blank stare. It was kind of like this…" Grace made her eyes slightly droop, making it appear as if her stare was vacant. She then put a hand to one cheek on her face. "He was also sighing a lot." She said, resuming her normal expression. "Anyway… the point is… I don't think I'm the right tutor for Boromir. I'd like to have my old assignment back and tutor Faramir. He was a much more susceptible learner."

Suddenly, the doors burst open and Faramir came running in. Tears were streaming down his face as he ran up to Denethor.

"What is it? Now's not a good time for me to spend time with you, Faramir; I'm quite busy at the moment." Denethor said.

"But, Daddy! I've come to complain!" Faramir said.

"C-c-complain?" Denethor said, twitching. "Well, in that case… It's not your turn. Go to the back of the line and wait there."

"But Daddy!" Faramir cried out, tears falling down his face faster.

"It's okay, Steward," Grace said. "I'm done with my complaint. I'll go now." Grace started to turn on her heel.

"No!" Denethor said. "Stay here! My Hurin senses tell me that you will have something to do with this!"

"Okay." Grace replied and stopped where she was.

"Now, Faramir, what is your complaint?" Denethor asked, twitching in annoyance.

"I hate my new tutor!" Faramir said. "He scares me! He's so huge! When he came into the room, he body-slammed me into the wall!"

"Who's your new tutor?" Grace asked, kindly to Faramir.

"Ted the Tubby." Faramir replied.

"No wonder! My slob-of-a-brother-"

"Hey!" The advisor cried out.

"I wasn't talking about you!" Grace snapped. "I was talking about Ted!"

"Ah, Ted! He's always such a problem when it comes to feast days! He needs a whole table just for himself!" The advisor then spoke to Denethor. "Sir, let me tell you from what I know, Ted is not a good tutor for a boy as young as Faramir. In fact… he's just plain not a good tutor!"

"Too true!" Grace added.

"He kept on talking about turkeys and how to cook them! Daddy, I don't wanna be a cook!" Faramir said.

"I think we should fire this man if what they all say is true, Denethor." Imrahil added. To Faramir, he said, "Come here Faramir." Faramir walked over to Imrahil and Imrahil wiped Faramir's tears off of his face. "Now, I think you should run along and let us handle this. I promise you that Ted won't be your tutor for long."

"Thanks, Uncle!" Faramir said and then walked away. The adults went back to their business so that nobody noticed as a hand reached out from behind a statue and pulled Faramir behind it, covering his mouth so that nobody could hear his cry of surprise.

Boromir was crouching from behind that statue.

"Boromir, what are you doing?" Faramir asked.

"Shh! I'm eavesdropping!" Boromir replied.

At this point, the doors flew open and a healer ran into the hall. "Gandalf has escaped the Houses of Healing and he's still sedated!" She blurted out.

Denethor let out a girlish scream. "This could cause the end of Gondor as we know it!" He cried out. "I must take action! Ready the GPC!"

"What's that, sir?" The advisor asked.

"The Gandalf Pest Control!" Denethor replied.

"Um… sir?"

"Yes?"

"We don't have one."

"Oh… Well, then, make one! In the meantime, you healer!"

The healer jumped. "Yes, sir?" She asked.

"Go find Gandalf," Denethor commanded.

"Yes, sir!" she replied with a salute and hurried out of the room.

"Now…" Denethor said. "Back to our business… Grace, you're re-assigned to Faramir."

"Thank you, sir." Grace said and then exited the room.

"Now… who shall I assign for Boromir?" Denethor pondered to himself. "I shall assign…"

Behind the statue, Boromir closed his eyes and crossed his fingers. "Please be hot! Please be hot! Please be hot!" He murmured under his breath. Faramir gave him a look and rolled his eyes.

"… Rose the Repugnant!" Denethor said. Denethor turned to Steve. "Go tell Rose that she's Boromir's new tutor."

Steve nodded and exited the room.

Behind the statue, Boromir silently cheered.

Faramir turned to his brother. "Uh… Boromir?"

Boromir paused in his jubilation. "Yes?"

"Do you know what the definition of 'repugnant' is?"

"No. It's a good thing… right?"

"Never mind." Faramir replied. He did not have the heart to tell Boromir that 'repugnant' was synonymous with 'hideous'. Boromir would have to find out the hard way.

Suddenly, the doors burst open and in came a sedated Gandalf.

"AAAH! IT'S GANDALF!" Denethor said. "HOLD ME, IMRAHIL!" Denethor jumped into thin air and then fell onto the ground. "Why didn't you hold me, Imrahil?"

"I'm just on your Council, Steward. My duty does not include holding you when you are frightened." Imrahil replied.

Gandalf then turned to the statue where Boromir and Faramir were hiding and said, "Your father loves you, Faramir. He will remember it in the end."

Both brothers held their breath, fearing that they had been discovered.

"Boromir you **(censored)** idiot! Why'd you try to take the **(censored)** Ring from Frodo? Why'd you go and seal your fate to die?" Gandalf said in a sing-song voice, still facing the statue.

After the first bad word, Boromir had covered Faramir's ears. "What's he talking about?" Boromir murmured.

"What did you say?" Denethor asked.

"Kumquat!" Gandalf replied.

Boromir and Faramir both sighed in relief.

Suddenly, the doors banged open and a very dirty and rugged man came running in. "There you are, Gandalf! I've been looking for you all over the place once I heard the confirmation that you were in the city and that you were on the loose under the influence of sedatives!"

"And who do you think you are to burst in on the Steward of Gondor?" Denethor snapped.

The rugged man puffed out his chest in pride. "I'm the future Ki- … uh… I mean… I'm Isild- … uh… um…" the man paused and then finally said. "Hi, I'm Thorongil! I served under your father! But I'm sure you don't remember me…"

"**(censored)**! Thorongil! Get the **(censored)** out of here!" Denethor yelled, spit flying everywhere.

Again, behind the statue, Boromir covered Faramir's ears after the first bad word.

Thorongil wiped the spit off of his face and then said, "I see that you do remember me…"

"Denethor! Don't use such profane language! There are innocent children present!" Gandalf said.

"Wait, what do you mean?" Denethor asked, suspiciously.

"I like puppies!" Gandalf replied.

Suddenly, Boromir jumped out from behind his hiding spot and started to run towards Denethor. "Wait! Father, it's not what you think! I can explain!"

"BOROMIR'S GONE CRAZY!" The head of the SBC yelled. "I'LL TAKE HIM DOWN!"

The head of the SBC jumped out from his hiding spot and hit Boromir near the shoulder with a dart. Boromir gasped and paused for a moment, but then continued towards his father. The SBC man hit Boromir with another sedative dart, this time in the stomach. Boromir groaned and sank to the floor for a moment, only to get up once more and run towards his father. The SBC man hit Boromir with a third dart, this one nailing him in the chest. Boromir sank to his knees next to Thorongil and a goofy smile crossed his face.

"Stop your fire!" Thorongil cried out. "You're going to kill him with an overdose of sedatives!" He then knelt down to look at Boromir. "Are you okay, lad?"

"I would have gone with you to the end… my brother… my captain… my king!" Boromir gasped in a creepy sing-song voice.

"What did you say?" Thorongil asked with a shifty expression.

"Somehow, I find all of this quite ominous…" Boromir replied and then fell limp in Thorongil's arms.

"BOROMIR!" Faramir cried and ran out from behind the statue, heading right towards his fallen brother.

"TAKE HIM DOWN!" Denethor yelled, pointing to Faramir.

All of the SBC got up and started firing sedative darts at Faramir. Only one made contact with his neck and the rest got embedded in Gandalf as Faramir dived behind him.

A goofy smile crossed Faramir's face and he stared at Thorongil. "My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?" He said to Thorongil in a sing-song voice.

"What? K-king? Who said anything about me being a king and coming back here to take back my throne?" Thorongil said with a shifty glance.

"**(censored)**!" Faramir replied with a goofy smile and then fell over, unconscious.

"It is not your place to deny the return of the King, Steward!" Gandalf said in a sing-song voice.

"What are you people talking about?" Denethor asked.

"The Return of the King!" Gandalf replied with a goofy smile and then fell over, unconscious.

"I'll be going now…" Thorongil muttered, discreetly exiting the room before Denethor discovered that he really _was_ Isildur's Heir and future King of Gondor.

"I WANT MY GANDALF!" Denethor wailed. "ADVISOR, GET ME MY GANDALF!"

A new servant was passing through the room as Denethor spoke and stared dumbly at everything for a moment, reconsidering his choice in career.

"You'll get used to it." The advisor mouthed to the servant as he produced the Gandalf dummy.

Suddenly, Boromir sat up and said, "Pickles!"

The new servant just gave the advisor a look and moved on.

* * *

Nari: We're going to end it here! 

Mina: We'd like to thank all of our reviewers who reviewed for the previous chapter.

Nari: Thanks!

Mina and Nari: Please leave lots of reviews!


	11. The Not So Midas Touch

Disclaimer: If you don't get it by now… maybe you should have your memory checked.

* * *

The advisor then placed the Gandalf dummy in front of Denethor and moved a good several feet away. Denethor then drew his sword and charged at the Gandalf dummy. Just before he beheaded the dummy, however, the leader of the SBC thought that the Gandalf dummy was the real Gandalf and therefore fired a sedative dart at him. The other members of the SBC followed suit.

Denethor dropped his sword as a goofy grin crossed his face. Then, he caught sight of Faramir's motionless sedated body and ran over to him. "My son!" He cried out. "Say not that he has fallen!"

The advisor just stared at Denethor. "Come again?"

"Kitties make me smile on the inside and the outside!" Denethor replied.

"Okay…" the advisor said. "You're sedated."

Faramir then sat up, rubbing his head. He then saw Boromir's fallen (also sedated) body and went over to it. He then said, "Boromir! Where is thy horn? Whither goest thou? O Boromir!" Faramir then turned to Denethor and said, "You wish that our places had been exchanged; that I had died and Boromir had lived."

"Yes… I wish that." Sedated Denethor replied.

The advisor sighed. "I think it would be best to remove Boromir, Faramir, and Gandalf to the Houses of Healing until they return to normal."

One servant went over to Faramir and took him by the hand and began to lead him out of the room. Right before they got to the door, Faramir turned around and spoke again, "If I return, think better of me, Father." Then, the smile of euphoria left his face as the sedative wore off.

"That depends on the manner of your return," the still sedated Denethor replied.

"What?" Faramir asked. "What are you talking about?"

"I love you, Faramir!"

"Really? Wow! I'm going to go tell everyone in the city!" Faramir whooped and ran out.

"Poor kid," The advisor said to Imrahil, "I wonder if we should tell him that Denethor was under the influence of sedatives when he said that."

"No… I think it would be best to let him believe this little fantasy," Imrahil replied. "I'll do damage-control later."

"Okay… just be ready for a large display of waterworks."

"I live by the sea. I think I can handle it. I'm used to waterworks."

Two servants then began to drag Gandalf out of the room. On his way out, Gandalf said, "Keep it secret! Keep it safe!"

"What?" Everyone who wasn't sedated said.

"Pretty shiny ring!" Gandalf replied and then was dragged out of the room.

Denethor blinked and rubbed his head, exiting the state the sedatives had put him in. "I think I'll fire the captain of the SBC… he does his job too well."

Boromir then sat up and looked at Denethor, still wearing the goofy smile now identified with being under the influence of the sedatives. "They have a cave troll!" He said with a giddy smile.

"What? Who?" Denethor asked, looking around, slightly panicked.

"He loves you, Father! He only wants to please you!" Boromir replied.

"Uh… I'm not really into inter-species relationships." Denethor said, "Or same-sex ones as well."

Two servants sighed and seized Boromir and began to drag him out. Boromir then said, "I see your mind! You will take the Ring to Sauron! You'll go to your death… and the death of us all! Curse you! Curse you! … … … … … … … … … … … Frodo? Oh no… what have I done? Some spell took me! Frodo, forgive me!"

"What?" Everyone asked the sedated Boromir.

"Pretty ponies and unicorns just tickle me pink!" Boromir said with an uncharacteristic giggle. The servants who were dragging him dropped him and edged away from him.

"And to think this is our future Steward!" The advisor groaned. Then, he said a prayer, softly. "Please let my life be taken before that happens!"

"He'd be better than his father." Imrahil pointed out.

"Too true."

Then, the sedated Boromir spoke up again, "Lyke omygawd!111 i'm sewper fat!111 lolz!11111" Suddenly, his hair turned hot pink and his eyes turned violet.

The advisor gasped and ran over to a glass emergency box next to the Gandalf-related emergency one. This one said, 'IN CASE OF MARY-SUE-NESS, BREAK GLASS'.

The advisor got his mallet out and broke the glass. Inside this box was a vacuum. The advisor picked up this vacuum and headed for Boromir, who had now began to develop a flock of animal-friends.

"Lyke omygawd!111 This is sooooooo hawt!1111" Sedated (or possessed) Boromir exclaimed. Suddenly his hair got longer and he randomly sprouted a pink frilly dress. Hummingbirds now did his (er… her? its?) hair in pretty little braids.

"Hang on, Boromir! I'll save you!" The advisor cried out and activated the 'Sue Vacuum'. The Mary-Sue that had come down to possess Boromir screamed as she was sucked out of her unwilling vessel. The cute little fuzzy animals jumped into the vacuum in an attempt to save her, but were then trapped in the vacuum as well. The advisor then placed the vacuum next to where he sat.

Boromir's hair, eyes, and attire turned back to normal and the goofy smile disappeared. "I feel like I have just been freed from some great evil," He said and then rubbed his head. He then walked out of the room to go to his lesson with Rose the Repugnant.

"Okay… that was very strange," Denethor said. "Well… anyway… Bring in the next person!"

The doors open and in walked a man with brown hair and shifty green eyes.

"State your name," Denethor said in his super-bored Steward voice.

"Hello, there!" The man said in an overly friendly and cheerful voice with a big, creepy smile. "I'm Midas!"

"Okay… either this guy's under the influence of sedatives… or he's a door-to-door salesman!" The advisor said in low murmur.

Denethor, however, did not hear this. "And what is your complaint?" He said in his bored voice.

"No, sir, the question is, what is _your_ complaint?" Midas replied.

"And what do you want me to do about it?" Denethor asked, not really listening to what Midas was really saying.

"Sir, on my way through the city, I noticed that security all around was very lax and some people weren't doing their jobs. And that's one thing you don't want when these Dark Times are approaching. I'm here to offer you a great deal that will not only improve the security of your city, but it will make it more efficient!" Then, Midas mentally added on, _'More efficient, that is, for my Master, Sauron, to overthrow your city when the time comes!'_ But he just kept on smiling his big, phony smile and making eye-contact with Denethor.

The advisor eyed Midas, suspiciously. There was no question about it… Midas was definitely a door-to-door salesman.

"Granted," Denethor said, "Now, guards, please escort this man out."

"Wait!" Midas cried out. "I haven't even told you what I'm selling, yet! I'm offering you three well-trained…" _'To overthrow your city.'_ "… cave-trolls for the price of one!"

Denethor sat up, alert. "C-c-cave trolls?" He said, thinking back on what Boromir had said before the Mary-Sue spirit had possessed him.

"Do you have a license to sell cave-trolls?" The advisor asked.

"I sure do!" Midas said, whipping it out and handing it to the advisor, still wearing his large, phony grin.

The advisor investigated the license and raised his eyebrows. He then whispered something in Denethor's ear and handed him the license.

Denethor glared down at the license and then turned to Midas. "Guards! Arrest this man!" He yelled.

Midas broke a sweat, but still wore his grin. "On what charges, my lord?" He asked in a wavering voice. He thought, _'Oh no! They must have found out that I serve Sauron!'_

"Your license has expired." Denethor stated.

"What a relief!" Midas said, shocked, but relieved that they did not know that he was a Spawn of Morgoth. "When?"

"Five minutes ago," Denethor replied. "I'm disgusted with you, man! Now, guards, throw this punk in the dungeons! Your days of unlicensed salesmanship are over!"

"Wait a minute…!" Said the advisor. "Only one kind of man would be relieved when his license expires! That man's a spawn of Morgoth that serves Sauron!"

"I know that! He said that he was a door-to-door-salesman, already!" Denethor replied.

"No, no!" The advisor replied. "I mean, he _actually_ serves the Dark Lord!"

"Oh! Well, then, hang him!" Denethor said. "Guards, take this Spawn of Morgoth to the gallows!"

"Yes, sir!" The guards replied and then dragged Midas away.

"You know, Denethor, if our security let Midas in, it really is lax," Imrahil said.

"Yes, sir, perhaps we should upgrade our security system," The advisor chimed in.

"Um… Lords? We pulled all of our security forces to look after sedated Gandalf," One brave guard piped up. "Our security's fine when we don't have to look after senile, sedated wizards!"

"Oh! Well, then! That's a relief!" The advisor said and then accidentally leaned on the 'Sue Vacuum' and his elbow flipped the 'release' switch. The vacuum then released the Mary-Sue spirit, all of her once cute and once fuzzy (for the vacuum had sucked off all of their fur and left them… stark naked) animals, and the animals' fur and feathers.

The Sue Spirit dove into Denethor and possessed him. Denethor's hair turned neon pink and his eyes were a deep, kind, caring, loving, sweet, sensitive, anti-Denethor-ish, lavender. He sprouted a pink frilly dress over his Steward's robes. His face had lost its wrinkles and whiskers and he now looked like a pretty teenage girl with very hairy legs and a flat chest.

In the presence of this wonderful new creature, all of the animals sprouted new (and better) fur and feathers. They then flocked around Mary-Sue Denethor.

Imrahil and the advisor just stared at Denethor, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

"lolz!1111" Mary-Sue Denethor said. "Where's my superhawt and very poor and hawt and abused and hawt and miserable and hawt and cute and hawt and sweet and hawt son, Fari?"

The advisor found that his twitch had returned. "I'm gonna need therapy after this!" He said.

"Frankly… I think it's an improvement." Imrahil said. "Can we keep him this way?"

The advisor looked at Imrahil. "Fine… but you're paying for my therapy."

"lolz!111 U 2 r soooooo funy!11111" Denethor said.

The advisor gave a twitch and small amount of insane laughter escaped his lips.

* * *

Mina: That's all for now, folks!

Nari: We'd like to thank all of our reviewers!

Mina: Thanks!

Mina and Nari: Please leave lots of reviews!


	12. Of Moles and Men

We do not own the Lord of the Rings.

* * *

"lyke, bring in the next 1durfull purrsun!111111" Mary-Sue Denethor giggled from atop her (his? its?) wooden Steward's chair. "lyke omygawd, this is sooooooo totally super-hawt and fun!111111 lolz!111111"

The advisor groaned and sat down in a fetal position. "No amount of therapy will make this moment right," He said.

The guards, who were also thoroughly disturbed, opened the doors. In ran a man in a black ski-mask and in all black clothes, carrying a sword, a bow and arrows, numb-chucks, a mace, a trident, an axe, several daggers, a club, and a machete. Imrahil and the twitching, semi-crazy advisor exchanged looks, each thinking that this could not bode well.

"He looks just like the man on the top of 'Gondor's Most Wanted' List," Imrahil said.

"You mean Ricky the Robber?" The advisor asked.

"Yeah, that guy," Imrahil replied.

"Yeah… I could see that. But I think that Ricky carries more weapons," The advisor commented.

"Well… I'm traveling light, today," Ricky replied. "Anyway," Ricky brandished his mace and machete (one in each hand) and said, "This is a hold-" Suddenly, he stopped, for he noticed Mary-Sue Denethor. "Uh… Who the heck are you?"

Mary-Sue Denethor giggled. "lyke, I'm so totally the steward of gondor!11111 I'm the big not-hawt meenie!11111111"

"Erm… right…" Said Ricky. "Well… In that case," Ricky put away the mace and machete and made himself look harmless and pathetic. In a poor-me voice, he said, "I'm but a harmless Gondorian citizen who is in desperate need of money to pay for food, water, shelter, and my wife's medical bills."

"Awwwww!111111 u poor hawt thang!111111" Exclaimed Mary-Sue Denethor. "super hawt guards?"

"Y-yes?" the guards asked unsurely, not sure if Denethor was going to order them to pummel Ricky to a pulp for trying to lie to him or if he would order something worse.

"plz escort this poor super hawt man 2 the gondorian treasurie and let him take all the $ he needz!1111111111"

The guards turned to Imrahil and said, "Do we have to?"

"Okay, I've had my fun," Imrahil said and then turned to advisor. "You can suck the Mary-Sue out of him, now."

"With pleasure," The advisor said and got out the Sue Vacuum and turned it on. With a shriek, the Mary-Sue spirit was drawn back into her prison, taking her fluffy animal-friends with her.

Denethor's body fell to the ground with a crash. Instantly, he returned to normal and sat up. "What happened?" Then, he saw Ricky in front of him. "Hey! That's Ricky the Robber! Guards, arrest him!"

"YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE, COPPERS!!!!" Yelled Ricky as he brandished all of his weapons and ran at Denethor.

"INTERVENTION!" Yelled the captain of the SBC. Suddenly, tons of sedative darts bristled from Ricky. A creepy smile spread over the robber's face and he fell to the ground. The guards then dragged Ricky away.

As Denethor sighed and smoothed his robes and took his seat, the advisor carefully stowed the Mary-Sue Vacuum in a place where he could not clumsily trigger another Sue-attack. Apparently one of the traits he had received from his lamented Father was his bumbling. Well, at least he didn't get one of the worst traits in the family from his mother… it was-

BANG! The doors burst open and in came a hefty, old and dowdy woman. Her hair was frizzy and gray with several rare brown streaks. Her eyes were the color of mud. Her nose was rather bulbous and much too large for her face, as were her eyes. And upon her chin sat a large, hideous, hairy, brown, repulsive, and repugnant mole. It was so huge that it stood out even from across the room. Denethor felt his twitch return.

"Ah, Rose, nice to mole you… I mean… see you again," Denethor said. "And what brings you here? No, let me guess, it's about your moles, I mean, lessons with Boromir."

"Yes," said Rose in a deep voice, "apparently my ex-husband, Bob, did a poor job teaching the lad."

"And let me guess," Denethor said, "you gave him a mole, I mean, quiz to test how much he knew and he failed."

"Why, yes!" Said Rose. "Here, take a look!" Rose produced Boromir's quiz and handed it to Denethor.

"Name: …MOLE!" Denethor read aloud with a twitch.

"He didn't even get his name right!" Rose said. "I believe he's… special."

Denethor gave a forced chuckle and willed himself to read on. "Number One: What is the capital of Gondor? And he answered: MOLE!" Denethor giggled in hysteria. "Number Two: Who is the Steward of Gondor? And his answer was: A cruel, heartless person who assigned me to a tutor with a… MOLE!" Denethor rolled his eyes. "Number Three: What is Isildur's Bane? And he answered: M—O—L—E!" Denethor cleared his throat. "Number Four: What is a molecular measurement? He answered: Mole."

"That's one of the only ones he got right," Rose said, "but you should still read on…"

"Number Five: Fill in the blank: The infamous volcano in Mordor is called Mount . And he filled in the blank to be: MOLE! Mount Mole…" Denethor said, looking at Rose's mole. "Well… that could certainly describe it." He said under his breath.

"Read on, Steward," Rose said.

"Number Six: What is a creature that lives underground and eats insects? And he answered: Mole."

"I'd say that Boromir should pursue a career in the sciences," Rose said, "He got all of those questions right. Just skip to number nine and then read ten, the essay question, Steward."

"Number Nine: What is a hairy, disgusting, repugnant, and pigmented protuberance that can be found on the skin of the human body? And he answered: MOLE!"

"Wow… he's a regular protégée," Said the advisor sarcastically.

"Number Ten: What was the last ruling of the Steward of Gondor and what is your reaction to it?" Denethor read on, twitching insanely. "And he said: DADDY, I HATE YOU! HOW COULD YOU ASSIGN ME THIS ORC AS A TUTOR? SHE HAS A MOLE THE SIZE OF ROHAN (which I now know is 'The Land of the Horse Lords')! I ALSO LEARNED THE DEFINITION OF REPUGNANT! JUST LOOK AT HER, FATHER, SHE'S THE DEFINITION OF REPUGNANT!!!!!!! AAA-" Denethor twitched. "Wow… that was anticlimactic."

Suddenly, the doors burst open and in came Boromir. He was rapidly twitching and screaming. "-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" He screamed. Suddenly, he stopped and just stood there, breathing heavily and twitching.

"What can I do for you, son?" Denethor asked.

Boromir opened his mouth. "MO------------------------------LE!" He yelled. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

"That's it," Rose said and threw down her wig, revealing a bald head with liver-spots covering it. "I QUIT!" She stormed out of the room, past Boromir.

"Poor Mother… she's had many students react that way," Said the advisor. "I'm just lucky I didn't inherit that… undesirable trait… that… mole. Did you know that my first word was 'mole'?"

"Too much information," Denethor said.

* * *

That's the end of this chapter. We would like to thank all of our reviewers, so… thanks, everyone! Please leave lot's of reviews! 


	13. Bad Luck for Boromir

See standard disclaimers in previous chapters.

* * *

Boromir smiled in satisfaction as Rose the Repugnant stormed out of the room.

Denethor sighed and massaged his temples and said, "Boromir, what am I going to do with you? This is the third tutor in one day! One day!" He repeated for emphasis.

"Well, you gave me Grace, and I liked her," Boromir retorted.

"A little too much," the advisor muttered to Imrahil, who chuckled.

Denethor sighed. "You weren't learning anything from Grace. And I don't want the next Steward of Gondor to be a complete ignoramus."

"What's that mean, Father?" Boromir asked.

"See what I mean? And just so you actually learn something, ignoramus is a stupid man," Denethor replied.

"Father, please don't be so hard on me! Heck, I don't even want to be Steward! Faramir's the scholar; he should be the next Steward. I just wanna kill things!"

"And, frankly, I'd feel better with Faramir as Steward," whispered the advisor to Imrahil, "This kid's proving he really is his father's son with his crazy antics!" Imrahil nodded.

Suddenly, the doors burst open and in came Gandalf, who was holding a plate of eggs with a salt and pepper shaker on it in one hand and his staff in the other, with wide eyes and an expression that screamed, 'I'm about to make a prophecy of DOOM!'

"Speaking of crazy antics…" Said the advisor to Imrahil.

"I'm about to make a prophecy of DOOM!" Gandalf suddenly screamed. "Steward, you're in grave danger!" Gandalf gave an up-thrust of his arms to emphasize his point. His staff let out a burst of light which cause a hole to burst in the ceiling.

Denethor gave a small giggle of hysteria, but suppressed it. "From a complete psychotic ignoramus named Gandalf…" Denethor gave another giggle of hysteria. "…yes."

Imrahil motioned to Steve the Sweaty and said, "Get maintenance on that." He gestured to the hole in the ceiling. Steve nodded and exited the room.

"Steward, you must listen to me!" Gandalf said, putting down his eggs, salt, and pepper on the floor, ignoring the hole he had just blasted in the ceiling of the ancient hall, "There is a great peril upon your hall!"

"And what is this peril?" Asked Denethor.

Boromir, ignoring Gandalf, said, "Look, Father! I forgot to show you my new pair of shoes! Aren't they nice?" Boromir said, showing Denethor his new shoes. Boromir put the shoes down on the table next to Denethor.

"NOOOO!" Cried out Gandalf. "I am too late to stop it! A scourge of bad luck is upon your house! For, lo, shoes on the table mean that someone in the house will die before his time!"

Now the maintenance crew entered the hall and put up a ladder so they could fix the hole in the ceiling. Then, a man who looked uncannily similar to Midas the door-to-door security troll salesman came in and said, "Would anybody like to purchase this First Age magic mirror?"

"Oh, I'll take it!" Said Gandalf and gave the salesman all of his money. "Put it over there in that corner near that ladder." The salesman complied and then ran out of the hall.

Denethor rolled his eyes but did not comment.

"Well, I guess I should be leaving," Boromir said, starting to head for the door. Suddenly, he stepped on Gandaf's plate of eggs and slipped and hit the ground. As he did so, he consequently upset the salt and pepper shakers on the plate.

"No!" Gandalf yelled. "You spilt the salt and pepper! This doubles your bad luck! Quick, throw both of them over your shoulder like this!" Gandalf ran over to the pile of salt and pepper and began to toss it over his right shoulder, bombarding Boromir in a storm of salt and pepper. Boromir sputtered and got out an umbrella and opened it to block the salt and pepper.

"Boromir, no!" Gandalf cried out, stopping his demonstration. "You fool! That just makes it worse! If you open an umbrella inside you get more bad luck!"

Boromir rolled his eyes and closed the umbrella. "This is a waste of my time," He said and got up and walked directly underneath the ladder.

"Boromir, no! Quick, cross your fingers! It will counteract the bad luck of walking underneath the ladder!" Ganadalf yelled. But it was too late. Boromir was on the other side of the ladder.

Boromir looked back at Gandalf as he continued to walk, not noticing the stray black kitten that was crossing his path.

"Spit, Boromir! Spit for your life!" Gandalf yelled.

"What?" Bormoir said.

"If you cross paths with a black cat, it's bad luck! To counteract it, you must spit after you cross paths," Gandalf said.

"No!" Denethor said. "It is unbecoming for the Steward's son to spit!"

"What?" Said Boromir.

"Don't spit!" Denethor said.

Boromir rolled his eyes. Gandalf then ran over in Boromir's direction, past him, and towards the stray black kitten. "Mr. Fuzzywuzzybutt XIII!" Gandalf said as he picked up the cat and then spit. "I thought… ptoo," he spit again, "that you… ptoo… were… ptoo… lost… ptoo… for good! Ptoo!" Gandalf walked away toward Denethor with his cat, Mr. Fuzzywuzzybutt XIII, leaving a large puddle of spit behind.

Boromir rolled his eyes. "What an ignoramus!" He said and then continued to walk towards the exit of the hall. Suddenly, he slipped in the puddle of spit and fell through the mirror that Gandalf had bought. He broke it with his head.

Boromir groaned, got back up, and began to pick up the broken shards.

"Boromir, no! Don't pick up the mirror! You must wait seven hours before doing so and then you must bury the mirror outside under the moonlight to reverse the bad luck!" Gandalf said.

But Boromir had already picked up the pieces.

"Oh, great! That's seven more years of bad luck! Add it to everything else… that's thirty years of bad luck _and_ someone in your family will die an untimely death!" Gandalf said.

(A/N: Note that Boromir is eleven now. Thirty years of bad luck would make him forty-one, which is the age he dies at in the books.)

Boromir rolled his eyes. "There's not such thing as bad luck," he said, "However, I do subscribe to the theory of a series of extremely unfortunate coincidences."

"You mean bad luck," Gandalf said.

"Whatever," Boromir replied and started to exit the room.

"Oh, Boromir! I'm assigning you a new tutor," Denethor said, "His name is Pete the Paddler. Report to him immediately."

"Yes, Father," Boromir replied and exited the room.

"Why do they call him Pete the Paddler?" The advisor asked.

"I have no idea," Denethor replied.

* * *

We would like to thank those of you who reviewed for the previous chapter! Please leave lots of reviews! 


	14. The Fraud, the Flatulence, and the Freak

We do not own the Lord of the Rings.

* * *

Denethor sighed and looked at the state of ruin that the room was in. Eggs, salt, pepper, spit, mirror shards, and some previously unnoticed cat feces littered the floor. Denethor looked up at the ceiling and was slightly relieved to see that maintenance had managed to repair the hole that was blasted in the ceiling by Gandalf. However, his face fell as he noted the obvious color-differences between the newly repaired ceiling and the undamaged ceiling. Looking at it, Denethor almost wished that there was a hole in the ceiling again.

Denethor looked at the silver gong beside him and rang it. On its call, several servants rushed to his side, some slipping and falling in the mess. One unlucky fellow landed face-first in a pile of the cat feces.

As they all crossed the field of hazards, they saluted Denethor.

"Clean up this horrid mess," Denethor commanded. "I want it to be spotless otherwise I will personally see to it that each and every one of you will never work in this city again!" At the end of his spiel, Denethor slightly foamed at the mouth and the advisor secretly wondered if the rabies shots previously administered to the Steward had worked after the dogs had bitten him.

All of the miserable and dirty servants worked hard to clean up the room in several minutes. They then left the room to bathe and change their uniforms. At that moment, a man walked into the hall.

"State your name," Denethor said, assuming that this man had some type of complaint.

"Hi!" The man said with a grin.

"Well, that's a strange name," Denethor muttered. "Well, Hi, what is your complaint?"

"I'm Midas 2.0!" the man continued with the same creepy grin plastered to his face.

"I don't see how that's a complaint, but, what do you want me to do about it, Hi?" Denethor asked.

"I am selling another product manufactured by your friends at Mordor Inc.! Would you care to buy it? If you do, you will be aiding Sauron's plan to conquer Gondor by sucking out all of their currency from their economy, thereby making it so that they cannot pay their soldiers, who will then go on strike, and while they are on strike, the armies of Mordor, now swelled by Gondor's currency, will march in and destroy the city without opposition," Midas 2.0 cheerfully said.

"Well, I don't see how this solves your problem about being Midas 2.0, but, as your kind and benevolent Steward, I shall grant your request. I shall buy whatever item you are selling, Hi," Denethor replied.

"No, no, no!" Imrahil and the advisor exclaimed in unison. "Don't buy anything!"

"Why not?" Denethor asked them. "Hi seems like a nice enough guy."

"Well, to start, I don't think Hi's name is really Hi. I believe his name is Midas 2.0. I also believe he is a Spawn of Morgoth since he appears to be collaborating with the enemy," the advisor told Denethor.

"A Spawn of Morgoth?!" Denethor exclaimed and then looked at Midas 2.0. He then extended a hand with a look of suspicion and said, "Show me your license."

Midas 2.0 beamed and handed his license to Denethor.

Denethor looked at the license and said, "This license only says that you are a certified Spawn of Morgoth! I need to see your license for salesmanship."

Midas 2.0 continued to beam and gestured to the Spawn of Morgoth license in Denethor's hand.

"You mean that's your only certification?" Denethor asked.

Midas 2.0 beamed and nodded.

"Well, then…" Denethor said. "… Arrest this man for the use of fraudulent documents and hang him for doing a very poor job of it! Confiscate his merchandise as well in case he escapes from the gallows!"

The guards rolled their eyes and led Midas 2.0 out of the room to his doom while another guard took the little red wagon that Midas was using to tote around his boxed merchandise.

"Bring it to me," Denethor said and the guard did so.

Denethor opened one box and took a look inside. His hand came up holding a well-crafted gas-mask. "Neat! A gas-mask! I was meaning to buy one of these!" Denethor exclaimed.

Suddenly, the advisor took a whiff of the air around them and gagged.

"What ails you, advisor?" Denethor asked.

"It's…" the advisor paused, partly for drama, partly because he felt severely nauseated. "… Him."

"Him?!" Denethor exclaimed. "Quick, everyone grab a gas-mask and put it on!" Denethor then put on the gas-mask he had pulled out of the box. All of the servants, the advisor, and Imrahil took the remaining gas-masks. Fortunately, there were enough to go around.

Then, as everyone prepared themselves, Gus entered the room.

"Ah, Gas, so nice to smell you again," Denethor said. After a brief moment of awkward silence, Denethor realized his mistake. "Gus! I mean Gus! For that is your name! And I also mean, nice to see you, not smell you. Smelling and gas have nothing to do with it!"

Gas, I mean, Gus let out a large quantity of wind and said, "Right, Steward. I see that you all have become slaves to Boromir's fashion." Gus gestured to the gas-masks. "Should I get one? You know, I love being up on the modern styles and trends."

"Only if you think you need one, Gus," Denethor replied. "So, is there a reason for your intrusion for the second time this day?"

"Well, sir, I was wondering why you fired me," Gus said. "You see, earlier today you gave me a raise, plus, Boromir was doing so well under my instruction. His poor lil' heart would just break if he found out that I was not going to be his instructor anymore."

"Sure, if by heartbroken, you mean jumping for joy and doing a silly little victory dance," the advisor muttered to Imrahil, who did not understand the advisor's comment being as he had not witnessed Denethor's decision about firing Gus.

"Well, you see, Gus," Denethor paused, trying to think of a convincing lie that would cover up the real reason he fired Gus. "Um… Well… I fired you because… I had to cut expenses! Yeah! That's it! Oh and since you had the highest payroll out of all of those employed by me, you had to be fired first. I'm truly, deeply, from the bottom of my heart, sorry." This last sentence brought on some snickers from everyone in the room except for Gus and Denethor.

"Will you all cut that out?" Denethor snapped and then returned to talking to Gus. "If it is any consolation to you, Gus, I had to fire Bob and Rose as well." Denethor failed to mention that he hired replacements for both as soon as they had been expelled.

"Oh, well, when you have to cut back your spending, you have to cut back your spending," Gus said, "Don't worry, Steward, I understand. But if you're ever in the need of a good sword instructor, you can always count on me… if you have the money, of course."

"Thank you so much, Gus, that means a lot to me," Denethor said. "You are dismissed."

"Goodbye, sir," Gus said, letting out another blast for all of them to remember him by. He then exited the room.

There were a few moments of awkward silence as everyone listened to Gus' receding footsteps. Then, everyone could hear a new set of footsteps heading for the door.

"Ah, that must be the next complainer," Denethor said, "Send him-"

Suddenly, the doors burst open and in came Gandalf.

"Ah, good day, Gandalf," Denethor said, trying to keep himself under control. After all, this was the sixth time that he had suffered the adversity of meeting with Gandalf.

"Yes, it is a good day," Gandalf said, looking up at the ceiling. "The sun shines fairly upon thy city. If I could look upon thy city every day, I should die a happy man."

"WITH PLEASURE!" Denethor shrieked and lunged for Gandalf, but was restrained by Imrahil and the advisor.

"Yes, with pleasure as well, for it is a great pleasure to feast mine humble eyes upon thy fair city with its majestic towers of ivory slightly tinted a pale gold from the warm light of the fair and golden sun," Gandalf said.

"Is there a reason for your being here?" Denethor asked, massaging his temples. "Or are you just here to make sure that I can never have a moment of peace and blissfulness?"

"Always does my coming herald some reason, your Stewardness, but never has it been the latter of which you spoke," Gandalf replied.

"Then why did you come here?" Denethor asked. "Is there something wrong? Did Rohan burn down? Did Barad-dur decide to fall down all by itself? Is Osgiliath under attack? Or did you just find something interesting in your nose?"

"There are many things in the wrong with our world," Gandalf replied. "However none of which you spoke have transpired. Although did find something of interest in the bowels of my nostrils."

"Are you giving me lip?" Denethor asked.

"Nay, I do not give you my lips, for I dost not love thee. For I only give my lips to one that I love, but alas! I have not found a maiden fair enough for me to give my eternal steadfast love and my lips."

Imrahil and the advisor snickered. "Can you picture Gandalf snogging anyone at all?" The advisor asked Imrahil, who only laughed harder and shook his head.

"No, no, no! That's not what I meant! What I mean to say was, are you giving me sauce?" Denethor asked.

"Well, had I known thou cravest some, I would have borne some with me," Gandalf replied. "However, I do possess a delectable recipe for a sauce that I would be most pleased to put to the test in thy steamy kitchens."

At this point, Denethor extended his hand for his black pillow. The advisor wordlessly handed it over to him and Denethor screamed into it.

"Had I known that thou werst weary, I would have brought my pillow as well," Gandalf commented.

Denethor raised his head with a malicious smile on his face and then ripped up his pillow in a fury, scattering black felt and cotton all over the room.

"Hark! Why didst thou demolish thy pillow?" Gandalf asked.

"What's wrong with Gandalf?" Imrahil muttered to the advisor.

"What's right with Gandalf?" the advisor mused.

"No, I mean that there's something more wrong with him than usual."

"And this comes to you as a surprise how?"

"Ah… good point," Imrahil responded. "I guess he has the right to talk in a strange fashion."

"After all, it is Gandalf," the advisor commented.

"Remove thyself from this room anon!" Denethor cried out. "I mean, get the heck out of here!"

"But, your Stewardness, I have not completed my task," Gandalf protested.

"What is that, pray tell?" Denethor asked.

"My stomach doth rumble as did the bowels of Mount Doom when the Ring was first forged within, as did the dragon Smaug when Bilbo smote it within the heart of the Lonely Mountains, as did the thunder in the epic storm Gwahir of the Eagles fought with a fortnight ago, as did…" Gandalf said.

"Is this going somewhere?" Denethor asked.

"What doth it desire?" Gandalf asked.

Denethor twitched and looked Gandalf in the eye. "Are you serious?"

"I doth not jest about such matters, Steward."

"Your stomach most likely craves some nourishment… or it ails you and wishes to heave up its contents."

"I thank thou for thy noble wisdom and thy gentleness," Gandalf said, bowing and walking out of the room. He paused for a moment, looking up at the ceiling and in a completely normal diction, he said, "That's strange. That one area of the ceiling does not match the rest. There's such an obvious color-difference." Then, he walked out, not realizing that this was the repaired hole of his own doing.

As Gandalf left, Denethor screamed and curled up in a fetal position in his chair. "That man will be the death of me, I know it!" He exclaimed.

* * *

That's it for this chapter! Sorry about the long wait; we've both been really busy.

We would like to thank those of you who reviewed for the previous chapter.

Please leave lots of reviews!


	15. It's Okay To Be Afraid

We do not own the Lord of the Rings.

* * *

After Denethor had barely recovered his tattered sanity, he gestured for the guards to open the doors to admit the next complainer. In waddled Boromir with a grimace of great pain on his face with his hands clutching his swollen backside.

"Boromir! It is unbecoming for the Steward's son to waddle around in such a manner!" Denethor exclaimed.

"What?" Boromir managed to groan out.

"Don't waddle around like that," Denethor translated.

"Oh… But, Father!" Boromir whined.

"No buts! Do as you're told!" Denethor replied.

"But my butt hurts!" Boromir whined. "This is the only way I can walk around without causing it too much pain."

"Your rear side ails you?" Denethor asked. "How did this happen?"

"What?" Boromir asked, confused at his father's speech.

"Your butt hurts? How?" Denethor rephrased. "Isn't Pete teaching you anything? I'm not using words beyond the vocabulary of a child your age."

At the mention of Pete's name Boromir, the tough and strong soldier of Gondor, started to cry. Loudly. With lots of snot running down his face. With his eyes swelling and turning red so that he could barely see. With wails that pierced the ears of all who heard them. With… well, you get the point.

"Boromir, come here and tell me what's wrong," Denethor said using his benevolent paternal tone that he reserved especially for Boromir. "Come here and sit down."

At the mention of sitting, Boromir began to sob harder.

Denethor sighed and rolled his eyes at the childish antics of his son, who should know better than to cry when he was upset, especially in front of a roomful of people who could and would spread the rumor that the Steward's eldest son was a crybaby. Very well, it appeared that he, Denethor, would have to get up from his comfy, wooden, hard, splinter-dealing, termite-ridden… okay, so it wasn't comfy to an average person, but from years of sitting upon it for hours upon hours upon hours, he had grown used to his chair and now was loathe to get up.

Denethor sighed and forced himself to rise. Slowly, he made his way to Boromir. He put a hand on Boromir's shoulder and gently said, "Tell me all about it."

"Father, he's evil!" Boromir exclaimed.

"Who's evil, son?" Denethor asked.

Suddenly, the doors burst open and in walked a middle-aged man with unnaturally muscled arms. The word 'pain' was inscribed on both of his hands, with one letter on each knuckle. On the lower portions of his hairline, his hair was flaming red and came together into a ponytail at the back of his head. It was apparent that he was bald at the top of his head due to the fact that he sported a horribly mismatched black toupee. One of his eyes was covered by a ragged black eye-patch where a scar made its way from his forehead to his jaw-line. His other eye was a cold black; black as the darkness that Sauron himself used to cover his lands. In one of his hands, he held a hard wooden paddle.

"Some say that he is the son of the Dark Lord himself," a servant whispered into the advisor's ear. "Others say that he slew a dragon with nothing but his bare fist and that paddle of his. They say he paddled clean through the scales. Other people say that he eats raw Orc, bones and all, for every single meal. Either way you slice it, there's no doubt in my mind that Pete the Paddler is more vile than Sauron himself."

The advisor looked horrified. "What was the Steward thinking when he assigned this guy to be Boromir's tutor?" The servant shrugged.

Gandalf poked his head through the window behind the advisor and whispered, "Thirty years of bad luck!" Then, he withdrew his head.

Boromir the Brave now hid behind his father, still whimpering.

"Stop yer whinin', boy!" Pete the Paddler barked. "Or I'm a' gonna put a hurtin' on yer backside that yer descendents a hundred generations from now will feel!"

Denethor looked upon Pete with sudden realization. "You paddled my son?" He asked, anger growing in his eyes.

"Yessir, that boy's dumber than an Orc who goes into Shelob's Lair to make nice-nice with her. First, I paddled him fer not knowing anythin'. Then, I paddled him fer not payin' attention. Then, I paddled him fer misbehaving. Finally, I paddled him because I just love paddlin' people! Love it more than life itself!"

"He's evil, Father! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVILLLLLLLLLLLLLLl!!!!" Boromir exclaimed.

"Hush, you!" Pete exclaimed.

"So, what did Boromir do to misbehave?" Denethor asked.

"He was a' lyin' to me. He was a' tryin' to fool me so that he could a' git outta learnin'. He asked me if he could a' go to the Houses of Healin' to git some salve for his a' achin' behind," Pete replied.

"I wasn't a' lyin'!" Boromir exclaimed. "It was 'cause you was a' paddlin' me so darn hard that it made a body ache the way you was a' treatin' me!"

"Boromir! Your grammar's atrocious!" Denethor exclaimed. "Did Pete make you read _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_?"

"I've a' read that book aloud so many times I can't stop a' talkin' like this," Pete said. "I loved that book so much! Pap's my role-model! The only part I ever read is the part about Pap!"

"I a' liked that book, Pa!" Boromir said to Denethor. "I liked the language! I could a' understand it!"

"Okay, Pete, you're fired," Denethor said. "Boromir, stay put, stop talking like you're Huck Finn, and no more science-fiction novels for you!"

"Yes, Father," Boromir said, looking down at the ground.

"Now, Pete, may I borrow your paddle?" Denethor asked in a calm voice.

"Uh… sure," Pete said and handed Denethor his paddle.

Denethor let out a battle cry and twirled the paddle above his head. He then spent the next few minutes chasing Pete around and then paddling Pete the Paddler, screaming, "THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR PADDLING MY SON!"

After Denethor was done, he walked over to Boromir and said, "Son, I've failed you."

"How, Father? It was quite entertaining to see you paddle the paddling out of Pete the Paddler," Boromir replied.

"No, not like that, son. I've failed you as a father," Denethor replied.

"Well, if you're referring to the incident with my fifth birthday party and the clown, how were you supposed to know that clowns were my…" Boromir gulped. "… deepest and darkest fear in all the land?"

"No, no! Not like that! Although, I am terribly sorry about that as well."

"You should be! I still wake up at night screaming bloody murder from nightmares about that clown. I think that they'll plague me for the rest of my life…"

"Yes, yes, I've heard enough about those dreams from you. Where you're surrounded by eight clowns; four short ones with huge hairy feet and curly hair and goofy smiles and balloon-animal ponies and rings; one with a big red nose and curly hair and a long beard; one who looks oddly like a girl putting on clown-makeup with a compact mirror; another one who smells almost as bad as Gus and claims to be king of the clowns with his balloon-animal sword and clown-makeup that looks like he's covered in dirt; and another that looks just like a clown-version of Gandalf. Then, an ugly clown with a white hand painted on his face shoots you with three arrows and you wake up screaming." The majority of the hall snickered.

"Yes, Father, that one, but you didn't have to recite it in front of the whole hall." Boromir said, turning red from embarrassment.

"Oh, sorry."

Faramir suddenly entered the hall upon seeing his brother's plight from an outside window with Gandalf. "It's okay to be afraid, Boromir!" He said. There was an awkward pause in the hall. Then, at the top of his lungs, Faramir gave a liberating shout of, "I'M AFRAID OF SQUIRRELS!" Now, he had started a chain of confessions.

"I'm afraid of seagulls!" Imrahil exclaimed. "They're trying to take over the world, I tell you! They, the rats, the cockroaches, and Sauron all have an alliance to conquer Middle Earth!"

"We're afraid of March 14th!" all the servants and maids shouted.

"I'm afraid of everybody in this room!" The advisor exclaimed. "You're all out of your minds!" He then turned to Imrahil. "And I thought we were partners in sanity! But you're just like the rest of them!" The advisor pointed to Denethor, Faramir, and Boromir. "You sicken me, man!" He said to Imrahil.

"Thanks, guys!" Boromir exclaimed with joy. "Now I don't feel so bad anymore."

Denethor blinked. "Now that you've all shared your feelings, may I continue?"

Everyone nodded.

"Anyway, Boromir, I failed you in terms of your tutorage. You haven't been learning anything for the past five years! I hope it's not too late… No longer do I trust any other person with the education of my sons! No, from now on, Denethor shall tutor his own sons."

"Why are you referring to yourself in the third person?" The advisor asked.

Denethor cleared his throat. "It makes it sound cooler."

"Whatever you say…" The advisor replied.

Faramir sighed. "Does this mean I can't learn from Grace anymore?"

"Yes," Denethor replied.

"But I like Grace! She's like the mother I don't have anymore!" Faramir exclaimed.

"More of a reason to get you away from her!" Denethor snapped. "Nobody can replace my Finny!"

"… my Findy!" Imrahil corrected.

Gandalf poked his head in through the window, again, and yelled. "… my Fin!"

Boromir and Faramir both walked out, feeling overwhelmingly disturbed.

"Boromir, don't forget to go to the Houses of Healing for your backside!" Denethor yelled after Boromir.

The whole hall erupted in laughter.

* * *

That's the end of this chapter. We would like to thank those of you who reviewed for the previous chapter. We will try to get the next one up quicker, next time. Please leave lots of reviews! 


	16. Gandalf vs Gondor

We don't own The Lord of the Rings.

* * *

Denethor sighed and returned to his chair and slightly grimaced as the splinters found their new marks in his backside. He really needed to buy a cushion for this chair, after all the King's long-empty throne had one of prime condition, and nobody even sat in it anymore! 

"Send in the next person," Denethor sighed.

The doors banged open and in rushed an aroused Gandalf. His face was red and his fists were balled up. He looked angry enough to sue someone.

"G-G-G-G-G-G-" Denethor said.

"Gandalf, sir? Can you not even speak his name anymore?" The advisor said.

"Yes, him. And I am afraid that after all these years of trauma with him, his name is more vile than that of the Nameless One himself," Denethor replied.

"I have a complaint that will lead to a lawsuit!" Gandalf yelled.

Denethor blinked. "And… what is it?"

"I'm suing you, the state of Gondor, and her staff for neglect that caused me to injure myself resulting in severe head trauma," Gandalf said.

"And when did this happen?" Denethor asked.

"Save your questions for the trial, Steward!" Gandalf fumed.

"And when will this trial take place?" Denethor asked.

"Now!" Gandalf exclaimed. "I will be the prosecutor and the lawyer of the prosecutor. You, Steward, will be the defendant. Your advisor will be your lawyer. Imrahil will be the impartial judge."

The advisor rolled his eyes as Gandalf suddenly summoned items for a trial: a judge's podium, a witness' stand, and stalls for both the prosecutor and the accused. Everyone took their places and the servants and maids sat down as the spectators.

Imrahil smiled and picked up his gavel and began banging it on his stand. Denethor and the advisor grimaced from where they were and covered their ears.

"Will you quit that infernal racket?" Denethor exclaimed at Imrahil.

"Sorry. It's just that I always wanted to do that," Imrahil replied. He then cleared his throat and said, "The case of _Gandalf v. Gondor_ is now in session!" He then banged his gavel a few more times but stopped when he received a displeased look from Denethor. "Anyway, the prosecution may call the first witness."

"Thank you, Imrahil," said Gandalf. "I call myself to the witness stand."

"Very well, Gandalf, please come up to the witness stand," Imrahil said.

Gandalf hurried up and took his place.

"Now, before you can answer any questions, I need you to take an oath," Imrahil said and took out a copy of 'Baby's First Book of Spells', something that he knew would bind Gandalf to his word. Imrahil walked over to where Gandalf stood in the witness stand and had him place his right hand on the book and raise his left. Then, Imrahil said, "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you Eru?"

"I do," Gandalf said.

"Good! Then you may now kiss the bride!" Imrahil said.

"Imrahil!" Denethor exclaimed.

"Sorry," Imrahil said, "I just thought it was fitting. Well," he threw 'Baby's First Book of Spells' over his shoulder so that it hit one of the servants who then fell to the floor, unconscious, "that's good enough for me! Prosecution may now question the witness." Imrahil then went back to his big and important judge's podium and sat on his well-cushioned swivel chair.

Gandalf got out of the witness' stand and paced around the floor, pretending to be a big-shot lawyer. He then turned to face the empty witness stand and he said, "In your own words, tell the judge what transpired." He then hustled into the witness' stand and folded his hands on his lap and looked more now like a timid person about to tell his tale.

"W-well, sir, twenty minutes ago, I was walking down a hall, just minding my own business, when I slipped in a puddle of carelessly spilt water that nobody bothered to clean up. It was then that I was sent careening out of control, and then I tripped and fell down the stairs to strike my head upon the hard stone floor. Then, I remember no more except when I found myself in your hall complaining about the color difference between patches of your ceiling. I was rather perplexed about how I got here and it was only until I exited the hall that I remembered my injury to my head," said Witness-Gandalf.

"Does the prosecution have any more questions?" Imrahil asked.

"No, sir," said Lawyer-Gandalf, "I believe that the witness was quite clear in his statement. Prosecution rests." Lawyer-Gandalf then took his seat as Witness-Gandalf in the witness' stand.

"Defense may now question the witness," Imrahil said, feeling the urge to pick up his gavel, again.

The advisor said to Denethor, "Don't worry; I know what I'm doing." He then strode up to the witness' podium and faced Gandalf. "Now, Gandalf, you say that you were just innocently walking down the hall, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Witness-Gandalf replied.

"What was your reason?" The advisor asked.

"My reason? Well, my reason was that I was looking for my cuddly kitten that has a nasty habit of running away. His name is Mr. Fuzzywuzzybutt XIII."

"And do you have any idea of how the water got there?"

"Well, there was a servant holding an empty bucket with a rather dismayed look on his face, looking down at Faramir, who had fallen on the floor. Bob the Bumbling was there, too, apologizing for knocking into somebody."

"Really?" The advisor raised his eyebrows. "Interesting… You also mentioned that you tripped over something and fell down the stairs. Do you have any idea what it was that you tripped over?"

"I don't know… it all happened so fast."

"Does the defense have any more questions?" Imrahil asked.

"No, Your Honor, defense rests," the advisor replied and sat down next to Denethor.

"It is now the defense's turn to call a witness," said Imrahil.

"I call to the stand, Bob the Bumbling, my father!" The advisor proclaimed.

Suddenly, a group of guards entered the courtroom with Faramir, Bob the Bumbling, and the servant in their custody. Each took a seat as Bob felt his way to the witness stand. Then, Imrahil came to Bob with a stack of blank papers (after all… would Bob really know the difference?) and made him swear to tell the truth. The advisor then approached his father.

"Father, may I ask you where you were twenty minutes ago?"

"I was in the hall, cleaning out the last of my personal possessions from my study and I was preparing to leave," Bob replied.

"And did anything of interest happen as you walked down this hall?"

"Well, I bumped into someone. I don't know who… but I believe it was a servant carrying a large bucket of water. Then, I heard a whole bunch of noises and then it ended with somebody tumbling down the stairs. And that's all I know."

"Very well, then. Defense rests its case," the advisor said and then walked back to his seat next to Denethor.

"Prosecution may now question the witness," Imrahil said.

"No questions, Your Honorness," Gandalf said.

"Very well, then," Imrahil said as Bob departed from the witness' stand and felt his way to an empty seat, "Do you wish to call any other witness to the stand?"

"No, Your Honorness," Gandalf replied.

"No, wait! Gandalf!" Faramir cried out. "I can explain everything!" But Gandalf paid no heed to him.

"Does the defense wish to summon any more witnesses?" Imrahil asked.

"Yes, Your Honor," the advisor said, rising from his seat, "The defense would like to call Fara-" But the advisor could not finish his sentence as he was pulled down by Denethor.

"Call the servant. He'd be a more reliable witness than a six-year-old," Denethor told the advisor.

"Yes, sir, very well," The advisor replied and then said to Imrahil, "The defense would like to call the-servant-that-Bob-the-Bumbling-allegedly-bumbled-into to the witness' stand."

The servant got up from his seat and walked over to the witness' stand. "I have a name, you know!" He snapped to the advisor.

"And what is it?" The advisor asked.

"Carl," the servant replied.

The advisor snorted for a moment and then motioned for Imrahil to give Carl his oath. Carl swore to tell the truth on a bucket of mop-water.

"Now, Carl. You were allegedly bumped into by Bob the Bumbling. Is this true?" The advisor asked.

"No… I-I didn't see, okay! I was too preoccupied with Boromir's strange antics! But I did feel someone hit me and then I dropped the bathwater for the young Lord Faramir. Then, I heard him fall down and I went to make sure that he was okay. Then, I looked up just in time to see Gandalf falling down the stairs," Carl replied.

"You say that you saw Boromir doing something strange. What was it?" The advisor asked, although he truthfully would rather not know.

"He was waddling down the hall with his hands on his backside."

The advisor covered his chuckle with a cough. "So, you didn't see what caused Gandalf to fall down the stairs."

"No."

"But you do admit, then, that you spilled the bathwater and could not clean it up in time when Gandalf slipped."

"Yes. I was too preoccupied with the Lord Faramir's well-being."

"Defense rests." The advisor said, sitting down with a cocky smirk. He had always desired to be a lawyer, but his father had gotten him this job as an advisor and he couldn't have said no.

"Prosecution may now feel free to question the witness," Imrahil said, playing with his gavel.

Gandalf got up. "I have but one question for the witness… could you please bring some bath water to my room? For I think that after this case I should desire a bath."

"Uh…" Carl said. "Sure… Can I go now? Please?"

"Prosecution rests," Gandalf said, taking a seat as Carl sprinted from the witness stand out of the room, fearing that soon the insanity that clearly gripped this room would grip him as well.

"Are you sure that you would not like to call any more witnesses, Gandalf?" Imrahil asked.

"Yes, I do not desire to call any more witnesses, Your Honorness," Gandalf replied.

"Very well, would the defense like to call any more witnesses?" Imrahil asked, turning to the advisor.

"Call Boromir," Denethor whispered to the advisor.

"The defense would like to call Boromir to the stand," the advisor said.

Suddenly, the doors banged open and the guards who had discreetly departed to fetch Boromir entered dragging him along.

"Wait! No! You don't understand! I didn't do anything wrong! I just wanted to get some salve for my bu-" Boromir faced the large crowd of people that made up the court and fell silent.

"Boromir, please come to the witness' stand," Imrahil said.

Boromir sighed and waddled into the witness' stand.

"Boromir, please sit down," Imrahil told him.

"Can't I just stand?" Boromir asked.

"No, sit," Imrahil commanded.

Boromir looked like he was going to cry again but managed to sit, looking rather pained as he did so. Then, Imrahil brought out a cookbook of elevated cuisines and made Boromir swear to tell the truth on it. Then, the advisor got up, ready to ask another set of questions.

"Boromir, where were you about twenty minutes ago?" The advisor asked.

"I was just making my way to Father's hall to complain about P-P-P-P… you know who I'm talking about! The evil tutor!" Boromir replied.

"Very well. And what did _you_ see?" The advisor asked.

"Well, I saw Faramir and his servant walking to his quarters and I knew that he was going to take a bath… the only way to take a bath nowadays is to fetch the water from a direct source because Gandalf backed up all of our plumbing, again…"

"OBJECTION!" Gandalf yelled.

"What is your objection?" Imrahil asked.

"Oh, no objection, Your Honorness," Gandalf replied.

"Then why did you yell your objection if you didn't have one?" Imrahil asked, feeling a slight twitch in the right side of his face. He gasped. He was going crazy as well!

"Oh, I just wanted to say it before the case was over to, you know, play up the courtroom drama a bit," Gandalf said.

"Can I continue, now?" Boromir asked.

"Yes, go on," Imrahil said.

"Okay, so I saw Faramir off to take his daily bath, so I waved and said hi. Then, I looked away and then I saw the evil kitten that gave me the bad luck that ended in me being paddled. Naturally I wanted revenge, so I ran up to the kitten and gave it a good hard kick. I forgot to spit, thought, so that could be why I ended up on the ground. Then, Gandalf's foot hit my butt and it hurt and then I heard somebody falling down the stairs. And then I went to go complain to Father about… the evil man. And that's what happened. Really," Boromir said.

The advisor raised his eyebrows, noticing several discrepancies in Boromir's tale, but decided that for the sake of his case not to comment upon them. "The defense rests, Your Honor," he said.

"Does the prosecution have any questions for the witness?" Imrahil asked.

"Yes, Your Honorness," Gandalf said, standing up and clearing his throat, pacing the length of the floor before walking over to the witness' stand. "So, Boromir, you say that your bad luck was caused by Mr. Fuzzywuzzybutt XIII?"

"Yes, I do," Boromir replied, unsure of why Gandalf wanted to know that.

"Hah! You just admitted that you believe in bad luck! I win! Neener, neener, neener!" Gandalf cried out and did a gloating dance on the floor. He then regained his composure and said to Imrahil, "Prosecution rests."

Imrahil groaned and pounded his head with the gavel twice.

"I don't believe that's the way you do it, Your Honorness," Gandalf said from his seat in the prosecutor's booth.

"Stop speaking if you know what's good for you, Your Ignoramusness!" Imrahil snapped back.

"Okay."

Imrahil twitched and then turned to the advisor and said, "Does the defense wish to call upon any more witnesses?"

"No, Your-" the advisor began.

"STOP!" Faramir yelled before the advisor could say anything. "I WANT TO BE A WITNESS AND GOSH DARN IT, I'M GOING TO BE A WITNESS!"

"Uh… okay, we call Faramir to the witness' stand," the advisor said.

Faramir smiled happily and said, "Thank you." He then proceeded to the witness' stand and swore to tell the truth on a pile of 'Living with Idiots: You're Not the Only Smart One Out There' magazines.

"So, Faramir, what is your side of the story? Please tell us in as much detail as possible," The advisor said.

"Well, I was walking down the hall with Carl so that he could empty the water that he was carrying into my bath so that I could bathe. We were almost to my quarters when we heard Boromir say hi to us. Carl turned around to see Boromir waddling down the hall. He turned so quickly that some of the water spilled. Then, Gandalf, who was looking the other way, bumped into Carl who then dropped all of the water. Then, Bob slipped on the water and bumped into me, causing me to fall down. He apologized to both of us and then continued walking. At this point, Boromir tripped on Mr. Fuzzywuzzybutt XIII because he was looking at Bob, trying to avoid him. Then Gandalf slipped on the water, tripped over Boromir, and fell down the stairs. And that's what really happened," Faramir said and then folded his arms in satisfaction as a smug look crossed his face.

The advisor smiled. "Good boy, Faramir. Defense rests its case."

Imrahil sighed. "Dare I say it… Unfortunately it seems I have no choice… Does the prosecution have any questions?"

"Yes, Your Honorness, I do," Gandalf said, pacing the room's length and then coming up to the witness' stand. "I have but three questions for you. What… is your name?"

"Uh… Faramir," Faramir answered, wondering the relevance to the case.

"What… is your favorite color?"

"Green."

"What… is the name of my gray cat?"

"Uh… you don't have a gray cat. But you do have a black cat named Mr. Fuzzywuzzybutt XIII," Faramir replied.

"Oh, okay then. He's not lying. Prosecution rests."

Imrahil groaned. "Okay, then, last arguments? Defense goes first."

The advisor stood and cleared his throat. "I'm going to make this as short and simple as possible: chances are that Gandalf is going to screw up his own argument so I'm just going to go ahead and let him make his closing statement. Defense rests its case." The advisor sat down.

"And it is a good one," Imrahil said, "Now… Gandalf…"

"Right, Your Honorness," Gandalf said, standing up, "I… should win. Prosecution rests." Gandalf sat down.

"Gee," Imrahil said sarcastically, "Both of you had such convincing arguments." Then, in a serious tone he said, "Well, as judge, my ruling is… that Gandalf's carelessness is the cause of his fall, Gandalf is guilty of wasting my time, and Gandalf is an idiot. There is no penalty. Case dismissed." Imrahil banged the podium with his gavel.

"Very well, then," Gandalf said. He got up and walked out of the room. Upon his departure, the judge's podium, the witness' stand, and everything else summoned for the trial disappeared.

Denethor looked at his two sons. "Faramir, go take your bath."

"Yes, Father," Faramir said and departed in a hurry.

"Boromir," Denethor said, "go to the Houses of Healing and put some salve on that butt of yours!"

Everyone started snickering and Boromir turned bright red and then waddled out of the room, losing the last shred of dignity he possessed.

Denethor sighed. "At least this was entertaining… and I wasn't the one who was going crazy!"

"I do believe you're being optimistic, Steward!" The advisor remarked.

"Yeah, but you didn't hear the rest of what I was going to say. Now… we need to go back to complaints."

* * *

We would like to thank those of you who reviewed for the previous chapter. By the way, if anybody has a suggestion for somebody to come in and complain, we would be more than happy to hear it and to try to fit it in. We have a general idea of where we want to go for the next few chapters, but we always like to hear suggestions. Please leave lots of reviews! 


	17. A Little Too Revealing

Wow, all of you reviewers who made suggestions must be psychic. Almost all of you suggested that Ioreth come in and we had already written most of this chapter when you all reviewed. So, kudos to all of you!

By the way, we do not own the Lord of the Rings.

* * *

Denethor sighed and resettled himself in his Steward's chair. Oh how he longed for the cushioned chair such as the one that Imrahil had when he was judge! Ah, but no matter. There were… less important things to attend to than the issue with his seating.

"Send in the next person," Denethor said in a bored tone of voice.

The doors opened up and in came a middle-aged woman with the standard black hair and gray eyes of all of the _normal_ folk in the city.

"State your name," Denethor said.

"Ioreth," said the middle-aged woman, "I am one of the women who work in the Houses of Healing."

"Ah, has Boromir reported yet to get some salve for his butt?" Denethor asked. Snickers echoed through the room.

"Yes, he has. But enough about that, I have come to complain!" Ioreth replied.

Denethor sighed. "Of course, I really should expect that… seeing that it is a complaint session… but I like it when the occasional person pops in just to say hi and wish me good health and give me a gift-basket with my favorite chocolates… and who am I kidding? That stopped happening right after Finny died!"

"Findy!" Imrahil corrected.

From the window outside, on the way to his bath, Gandalf poked his head in. "Fin!" he corrected.

"Whatever!" Denethor exclaimed. Then, he turned to a rather disturbed Iroeth, "So, what was your complaint?"

"The warden sent me, actually," Ioreth began.

"And that's your complaint?" Denethor asked.

"No!" Ioreth said. "The Houses of Healing has been provided with inadequate supplies."

"How so?" Denethor asked.

"Well, all you ever give us are those darn altheas leaves!" Ioreth whined. "They're so useless! I mean, when am I ever going to need altheas leaves?"

"WHOOO! I'M STREAKING!" Faramir yelled as he ran through the room stark naked and dripping wet with servants holding towels chasing after him.

Denethor's eye began to twitch, again. He was pretty sure that the mental image of his son streaking would be permanently seared into his brain tissue, as well as Ioreth's, for the rest of their natural lives.

Boromir then waddled into the room; he was clearly in pursuit of the servants and his streaking brother. When Denethor looked at him for an explanation to Faramir's unusually wild antics, Boromir said, "I dared him."

"Ah, Boromir, have you applied the salve you received at the Houses of Healing to you buttocks yet?" Denethor asked. Snickers went up in the hall, again.

Boromir looked at his father for a moment, twitching violently. Then, he yelled, "I HATE YOU PEOPLE!" and then he stormed out of the room.

Ioreth cleared her throat. "What… erm… unique children you have raised, Steward," she commented as Faramir ran through the room again, yelling, "I'M STILL STREAKING!"

"Indeed," Denethor replied. "And every day I am extremely…" Denethor let out one of his insane giggles, "… thankful for it."

"Yes, well, anyway, about the matter of our supplies…" Ioreth said.

"I thought that altheas leaves had a great deal of healing properties…" Denethor said.

Ioreth sighed. "The only property they possess that we are aware of is their property to make a room smell good."

Denethor sighed in defeat. "Very well, what would you like me to do about it?"

"We in the Houses of Healing desire that greater herbs be imported from all over the world."

"And how am I supposed to-"

"Well, that's your problem! Maybe if you can't do your job right, somebody should find the king so that he can return and replace you!" Ioreth snapped.

"But who knows where the real king would be, or even if there is a king?" Denethor retorted.

As soon as those words escaped Denethor's lips, Gandalf came running through the room, naked, dripping wet, and yelling, "I'M STREAKING, TOO!" Then, he stopped when he was in the middle of the room, right in front of Denethor. He bowed and said, "Your Stewardness."

Denethor's eye merely twitched in response.

"You know, your son is on to something here! I love the breeze the most! But I suppose I should thank your other son for daring me to streak," Gandalf said and then he continued to streak.

"Now that was the most disturbing thing I've ever seen," Ioreth commented. "And that's saying a lot, considering I'm a healer."

Denethor's eye twitched again. "I think I'll be scarred for life," he said.

"Well, anyway, don't forget to get us some new herbs," Ioreth said and then left the room.

"Right…" Denethor replied. "I'll get right on that…"

"You're still paying for my therapy," the advisor told Imrahil.

"I think I'll be joining you," Imrahil replied.

"Aw, heck!" Denethor said. "I'll buy a round of therapy for all of us, including all of you servants and maids who had to witness that!"

* * *

We would like to thank those of you who reviewed for the previous chapter. Oh, and if you still have suggestions, please let us know! Please leave lots of reviews! 


	18. I Wanna Be Like Huck

We would like to thank Nelarun for giving us this idea. This chapter goes out to you!

Oh, and in case you're all still wondering, we still do not own Lord of the Rings.

* * *

The hall remained silent for a while after Ioreth left, all still thinking about the disturbing image of Gandalf and Faramir streaking. The silence was disturbed as the doors burst open and in ran Faramir, now fully clad, though all in the hall grimaced and turned away from him, for he evoked the memory of his nude performance.

"Father, Boromir gave me this to give to you," Faramir said when he reached Denethor. Then, Faramir took out a letter and handed it to Denethor.

"Did he happen to mention if he applied some salve to his hindquarters or not?" Denethor asked Faramir. Again, snickers filled the hall.

"Gee, Father, you're so embarrassing," Faramir commented, "It's no wonder that Boromir ran away!"

"WHAT?!" Denethor shrieked, sitting up, alert, ripping the letter open. He then read it aloud:

_Dear Father,_

_As you can tell by this letter, and what Faramir has probably given away with his inability to keep a secret, let alone tell a mere lie, or do anything morally incorrect, I have run away. Do not ask to which destination I plan to go to, for even I myself am unsure. Do not even ask when I will be coming back because your query would not reach me seeing as nobody would know how to give the letter to me. Perhaps I shall build a raft and float down the Anduin, just as Huck Finn did on the Mississippi. Did I spell that right? Anyway, my point is to seek not what you shall not find, especially if the thing you are seeking does not have a forwarding address. Isn't that cool? I got that out of some stale cookie. What kind of cookie has paper filling with words on it?_

_Anyway, I have run away because you are a deep embarrassment to me. You are so embarrassing that at some times I wish I could run off to a strange land (like, say Amon Hen) and get skewered by three arrows at said place. Whoa, what did I just write? Are my prophetic senses finally kicking in? I know what you're thinking right now, and don't you dare mention the unspeakable that starts with a "c-" and ends in a "-lowns". And if you're reading this aloud in the present, I DESPISE YOUR FILTHY PUTRID GUTS!_

_Love,_

_Boromir ♥_

_p.s. Did you remember to apply your special cream to your "itchy area"?_

_p.s.s. Did you read that out loud? If so, let that be a lesson in empathy to you._

_p.s.s.s. This has got to be the longest document I have ever written, and that includes the time I forged Mummy's death papers so that she could go back to… I've written too much. Unfortunately, I wrote in pen and it is now running out of ink._

_p.s.s.s.s. Are you still reading this out loud? If so, then you are a-_

Denethor then paused after he had read the letter, which was abruptly cut off as Boromir had run out of ink. His mouth was wide open. "I-I can't believe it!" He exclaimed.

"I know!" Faramir replied. "Mummy's out there somewhere and she's still alive!"

Denethor paused and looked at Faramir with a confused expression. "And how do you figure that?" He asked. Then he said, "I was referring to his heightened vocabulary and perfect grammar skills. He was never that intelligent before… did you help him write the letter, Faramir?"

Faramir smacked his forehead and shook it.

Suddenly, a medieval postman walked into the room, carrying some mail. He walked up to Faramir and handed him a magazine and said, "Here's your newest addition of _Living with Idiots: You're Not the Only Smart One Out There_ magazine."

"Thanks, Bill," Faramir said, handing Bill a twenty, "I have a feeling I'm going to be needing this soon." Faramir then walked out of the room to go read his magazine.

Bill the postman then walked up to Denethor and handed him a book and said, "Are you the guy who mail-ordered a copy of _Maggie's Guide to Rashes: Don't worry! Chances Are That It's Curable!_ ?"

"I never ordered such a thing!" Denethor proclaimed as snickers went around the room.

"Oh yeah, and it comes with this note," Bill said, handing Denethor a note. Denethor looked at it and read it aloud:

_Dear Father,_

_I paid Bill to deliver this book to you during your complaint session so that you could have witnesses to your humiliation. Now, the only question I have for you is: now do you know how I feel? I HATE YOU!_

_Love,_

_Boromir ♥_

_p.s. I found a new pen._

_p.s.s. However, I did not find any ink._

_p.s.s.s. This letter is written in my own blood, which was the only thing that I could use as an ink substitute. They do so in _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_. Isn't that fascinating?_

_p.s.s.s.s. I brought a copy of it along with me. I'm planning on reading it after I finish writing this._

_p.s.s.s.s.s. I'm white-water rafting on the Anduin._

_p.s.s.s.s.s.s. Ooh! Trees! I think I'm in Ithilien._

_p.s.s.s.s.s.s.s. I just got ambushed._

_p.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s. Oh! Don't worry! They're just rangers._

_p.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s. One just left to go see you. He should be arriving shortly after this note._

_p.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s. Aren't the nuances in the time-space continuum fascinating, considering that I ran away a scant ten minutes ago and already I am in Ithilien and had the time to write this really long letter?_

_p.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s. The book I sent with this long letter might actually be helpful for your "itchy region" you keep complaining about._

_p.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s. I think that this is a record for the amount of post-scripts after a letter._

_p.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s. Are you still reading this out loud?_

_p.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s. I think that I'm using too much bl-_

Denethor blinked at the letter.

Bill sighed. "You need help, buddy," he said. "I pity you. So, I'm going to give you this book, free of charge." Bill handed Denethor another book similar in cover to Denethor's rash book.

Denethor read the title aloud, "_Maggie's Sister's Mother's Father's Grand-Daughter's Cousin's Mother's Sister's Daughter's_ _Guide to Self-Psychiatric Treatment: A Step-by-Step Manual to a Saner You!_" Denethor groaned. "Why didn't the publisher just say that it was Maggie's guide?"

Bill shrugged. "I don't know. I just deliver 'em." With that, Bill walked out of the room, just as another man entered. He smelled bad. Really bad, but not as bad as Gus. That meant that he could only be one person…

"Thorongil! Get out!" Denethor yelled.

"No, the name's Anborn," the ranger said. "And I have a complaint. Two, actually."

Denethor sighed. "I was aware of your coming. Please be quick and do tell me about my son's whereabouts!"

"Well, actually, that's the first complaint," Anborn replied, "Your son really needs to loose some weight! I've carried him here all the way from Ithilien and now I think that my spine has been permanently misaligned." Anborn then plopped a rather dirty and pale (from blood loss) Boromir unceremoniously on the floor. Denethor had not noticed his son before, seeing as he had just thought him to be another part of the Ranger's clothing.

"Boromir!" Denethor cried out and ran to him. "Say not that he has fallen!"

"No," Anborn replied. "He just fainted because he lost so much blood writing that letter of his. We sent it anyway with Bill. I would have beaten Bill here if I hadn't been slowed up by that heavy son of yours."

"Well, get him to the Houses of Healing," Denethor said to a servant. The servant picked up Boromir and dragged him away, groaning and grunting all the way. Denethor then turned to Anborn and said, "Oh, and did he happen to mention if he applied any salve to his buttocks? If not, I'll have to tell the healers in the Houses of Healing to attend to that as he sleeps." Again, all of the hall burst into snickers. Anborn disguised his as a cough.

"I guess he hasn't learned his lesson, yet," the advisor whispered to Imrahil.

"If I know the Steward half as well as I think I do, Boromir will really have to drill it home. Boromir would have to run away to Mordor before Denethor would understand," Imrahil commented.

The advisor snorted.

"No, he did not mention applying any salve to any area of his body, and I don't know why he would have," Anborn replied.

Denethor sighed. "Very well, then, what is your other complaint?"

"We want plumbing," Anborn said.

"What?" Denethor exclaimed.

"Your heard me! We want plumbing!" Anborn said. "For it has become impossible for us to take a steaming hot bath. Why, I haven't had a decent bath in, oh…" Anborn paused and counted on his fingers for a moment. "… about seven months! Also, we of the Rangers of Ithilien find it quite unbearable working with ourselves because we smell so bad. Also, our stealth has recently been terrible considering that we smell worse than an orc's backside."

"Pleasant image," Denethor replied. "But what do you want me to do about it?"

"Give us plumbing," Anborn replied.

"How?" Denethor asked.

"You're the Steward. Figuring out how to do it is your job. I just provide the complaints," Anborn replied and then walked out of the hall.

"He does smell as bad as an orc's backside," the advisor commented.

"Yes," Denethor said, "get someone started on a plumbing project to get water to the Rangers of Ithilien. And also, send for some altheas leaves from the Houses of Healing so that we may burn them and freshen up the hall."

* * *

We're going to end it here for now. We would like to thank those of you who reviewed for the previous chapter. We would also like to thank Nelarun for the idea of having the ranger come in and complain about the inadequate plumbing of Ithilien. If any of you who have read this have any suggestions for a person who could come in, please tell us! Please leave lots of reviews! 


	19. Sony Tenor

We don't own Lord of the Rings.

* * *

Denethor sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples. This job was really getting to him. Maybe he needed a holiday… a very long holiday. One that he would not return from. In truth, he felt thin and stretched like butter spread thinly over too much bread. And… what was he thinking?! Denethor smacked himself on the forehead only to draw more worried stares from everybody in the hall. 

"Steward, are you feeling-" The advisor began but then he was cut off by Denethor with a wave of his hand.

"Don't speak," Denethor said in a strained voice. "Just send in the next-" Then, Denethor was interrupted with the sound of doors banging open that often heralded the arrival of…

"Your Stewardness, you must help me!" Gandalf cried. "I'm in grave danger!"

"And what is it this time? Has Faramir tried to put a boyband together and asked you to be the backup dancer with his brother as the lead singer, again?" Denethor asked.

"No, although I would say that would be a problem. No, I need money," Gandalf replied.

Denethor raised an eyebrow and looked at Gandalf, pondering how to deal with his queer request. "What, do you have a hot date, again, because you told her that you single handedly drove Morgoth out of Middle Earth and for that you got riches beyond mortal dreams even though all real historians know that the Valar did that and you were not present at the time?"

"Well, uh, you just cut down my explanation time by a half," Gandalf replied. "You see, I got a hot date on saying just that, but I did not want to trouble you," Denethor twitched, "by borrowing your money so… I went to a guy who 'makes wishes come true' if you know my meaning… like a fairy godfather in that he grants wishes and he constantly watches over you."

"I see… so you borrowed money from a mobster and now you can't pay him back so he's-"

Suddenly, the doors banged open and in came a few sketchy-looking men. One at the head was dressed in a black suit (even though, strangely enough, suits were not existent during this time period of Middle Earth) and a black top hat.

"Gandalf," he said with a mobster accent, "your time's up. I gave you plenty of time. Now, tell me, where's my 100 billion gondorians?" Denethor's mouth dropped open in a silent scream, "If you can't help me locate dem, I may have to do some... unpleasant business… and, my friend, I don't like doin' unpleasant business."

"Well, um, actually, I loaned my money to Denethor and he was just about to give you the loan, right Steward?" Gandalf replied.

Denethor merely twitched in reply.

The mobster looked at Denethor's wooden chair. "Dat's a nice chair you got dere, Steward. Ya know, my brother makes chairs of a similar type and sells dem to poor peoples cheap so dey can be a little… comfortable, if ya know what I mean. And dose who don't buy… end up gettin' visited by our friend Pete…or da Hidden Hunter..."

Denethor gulped. "And… what, may I ask, is your name? You know, so I can make that check out to the right person."

"Ah, right. How rude of me not to introduce myself," the mobster replied. "My name's Sony Tenor. You'd better remember dat name, Steward. I got lots of… connections… so, don't go tryin' to tattle on me. If dere's one thing I hate more dan anything… it's a snitch. So, are you goin' to give me my money… or…" Sony stared around the room and looked at the newly refurbished bust of Finny (… Findy… Fin!). "Dat's a very nice bust of a very pretty lady. It would be a shame if something were to… happen… to it." One of the other mobsters leaned dangerously close to the bust.

"Not to worry!" Denethor said. "Immy, give the nice man his money."

Imrahil looked at Denethor. "Are you talking to me?"

"Yes! Now, go, Immy! Go!" Denethor shouted. "There are lives at stake! And they're important ones! Like mine!" Imrahil then sprinted out of the room, only to run into Faramir, who had just entered the room while reading his new magazine.

Upon impact, Faramir fell down and then got back up, rubbing his head and grumbling. Then, he caught sight of Sony. Sony caught sight of him.

"Hey, Hidden Hunter! What are you doin' here?!" Sony exclaimed, throwing his arms open for Faramir. Faramir embraced Sony.

"Hey, Sony, my man!" Faramir exclaimed in a different mannerism than he normally did. "So, did ya get the money from dat dope who wouldn't…" Faramir caught sight of Gandalf. "Oh Eru, it's Gandalf, isn't it?"

Gandalf smiled and waved.

"What's it to you, Hunter?" Sony asked.

"It's just, I plan on using him as my… secret weapon. Ya know… for our more… sketchy operations."

"Oh dear Eru, my son's in the mob!" Denethor exclaimed and put his head in his hands. "Why me?! Why me?!"

"Cheer up," the advisor said, awkwardly patting Denethor on the back. "It could be worse."

"How?! How could it possibly get any worse?!" Denethor cried.

Faramir turned around from his low conversation with Sony, who was now considering letting Gandalf off the hook. To Denethor, Faramir said in his mobster voice, "Oh, by da way, Boromir went on a little… trip…"

"Oh dear Eru, he killed Boromir!" Denethor shrieked. "My sons are spent! My line is ruined! I must burn… burn like the heathen kings of old!" Denethor rose from his chair with a mad glint in his eyes as spittle flew from his mouth when he spoke. One member of the SBC hidden behind a marble pillar slowly reached for his sedative dart-firing straw, not sure what he should do.

"No, no, no! I didn't mean it like that!" Faramir said, using his normal voice. "I would never hurt Boromir! He just ran away again, that's all. I don't know where, though. He was very ambiguous and this time he didn't even take the time to leave a letter!"

"Oh… well, that's a relief." Denethor said, heaving a relieved sigh and sitting back down in his Steward's seat, the crazy look in his eye slightly assuaged. "Now, Faramir, I never want you talking like… or acting like… a mobster ever again! Do you understand?"

"You let Boromir talk and act like Huck Finn," Faramir retorted.

"Well, Boromir's a special child. Also, Huck Finn is a better role model compared to a mobster even though he ran away from home, smokes more than a chimney in the wintertime, drinks alcohol constantly, and strips at least once every chapter… actually, I suppose that's not really a good role model either, but at least Huck Finn is trying to be a good and decent person who… who am I kidding? Don't worry, if you stop, I'll make Boromir stop. And if you stop, you also have to stop seeing your scary mob friends."

"Okay, Father," Faramir replied, "I was just doing it to make you notice me and the injustice of your liberal parenting style with Boromir. Think about it, Father, if you keep on spoiling him like you do, he'll think he can walk up to some innocent person and demand something from them he desires like a necklace, a sword, a ring…"

"What was that last one?" Gandalf asked with a mad glint in his eye.

"A sword," Faramir replied.

"Oh," Gandalf said, "I could have sworn that you said," Gandalf twitched rapidly and drooled, "a ring."

"Uh… I-gotta-go-bye!" Faramir turned quickly and started to leave, but slowed down as he got near to his mob friends.

"So, does dat mean dat we're not on at da resistance cellar tonight?" Sony asked.

"No; we're on," Faramir replied.

"Good, I heard Gil's coming tonight," Sony replied.

"Then you know I'll be there," Faramir said and quickly departed with Denethor looking suspiciously at them having only heard the words 'resistance', 'cellar', 'Gil', and 'I'll be there.' Then, Faramir walked right back in with King Theoden, his son Theodred, and Boromir in tow. "Found him!" Faramir remarked.

"Uh… King Theoden! What a… erm… pleasant surprise!" Denethor said. "I didn't know it was that time of year, again! But where are the barrels and why did you bring that little snot-nosed brat with you?"

"Father!" Boromir exclaimed.

"No, not you, son," Denethor said, "It's just whenever Theodred comes here, he snots up everything, including my best chairs! Remember your sixth birthday, Boromir? Remember that great cake? It looked so good… and so tasty… and then Theodred just had to blow it away with that infernal sneeze of his. Cake everywhere! And then he sneezed on my best tapestries… and then he got it on Finny… and then all over Faramir, who started to wail and wail… but then again, he was an infant at the time so that was all he could do other than eat, sleep, and make poopie diapers and…"

"I remember, Father! I remember!" Boromir cried out. "Stop! Or Faramir may just have a seizure. Seriously, how does he get his face to turn that shade of maroon?"

"Ah, whatever!" Denethor said. "Theoden, you never did answer my question. Why are you here?"

"Well, your son strayed into Rohan and I took it upon myself to return him. Eru forbid that we lose our heirs, you know? Have second-rate sons or third-rate nephews take our positions?" Both Theoden and Denethor shuddered and Boromir and Theodred rolled their eyes.

"Well, thank you for returning Boromir to me. And now he must see to the problem with his buttocks," Denethor said.

"Ah, yes, and Theodred must see to that sinus infection he has. It seems to be getting worse as now when he exhales he ejects a puddle of green snot. It's horrid to look at and the maids tire of mopping up after him," Theoden replied.

"Father!" Theodred exclaimed.

"See, this is exactly why I paid Eli Lumber to pretend to be Sony Tenor to scare my father and embarrass him in front of everyone. Faramir and Gandalf were in on it too. And so were Eli's friends: Seamus Houston, Willy Void, Domino Montague, Morty Vinegar, Johnny Davis, Ian Killm, Seamus Legume, and Orli Blossom. They're all expiring actors; so's Eli."

"You mean aspiring?" Theodred corrected.

"No, that would mean they're dying!" Boromir replied.

Theodred smacked his head and shook it.

"What?" Boromir asked.

"Nothing," Theodred replied.

"Well, shall we go to the 'Houses of Healing'?" Boromir asked.

"What do you mean by that?" Theodred asked.

"You'll see. Just follow my lead," Boromir replied. He then turned to Faramir and said, "Take care of things here while we're 'in the Houses of Healing'."

"You got it," Faramir replied with a wink.

"Boromir I don't understand…" Theodred said as Boromir led him out of the room.

"Well, it was fun while it lasted," Eli Lumber said. "We all had a great time, but now we must leave. Our director, Jack Peterson, is trying to find some inspiration for his newest play. As you know, we're a traveling troupe and our director wants to make our next play based on real historical events that he will twist and change to make it three hours per act and only have a slight semblance to what actually happened with some characters cut out, some characters changed, and some with their importance blown up way out of proportion."

"Good luck with that," Faramir said.

"And after that, he wants to put on a play about a large albino rabbit on top of the white tower holding an elvish maiden between his teeth and the only way to get him to drop her is by giving him an equally gargantuan carrot."

"Again, good luck with that. I extend my sympathies toward you," Faramir replied.

"Right, see you later, Faramir!" Eli said as he and his troupe left.

"W-wait! They were just actors?" Denethor paused and then said. "Feh! I knew it all along!"

Imrahil then ran in. holding a check. "Here it is! A check for 100 million gondorians made out to a Sony Tenor!" Imrahil handed it to Denethor.

Denethor ripped up the check. "Thank you, Imrahil, but that will no longer be necessary. Sony Tenor was an actor hired by my son to scare me. But it didn't work! So, thank you anyway."

"Erm… right…" Imrahil said and then resumed his position next to the advisor.

"So, Theoden, since you're here, shall we break out the barrels and begin the festivities?" Denethor asked.

"It looks like you're busy," Theoden replied. "But I will return once I check up on our sons in the Houses of Healing."

"Excellent. Thank you, Theoden." Denethor replied. "It will be good to know that Boromir has finally applied salve to his buttocks."

A wave of snickers followed Denethor's statement and Faramir rolled his eyes and exited.

* * *

We would like to thank those of you who reviewed for the previous chapter. Sorry this one took so long, but we are both very busy. Please leave lots of reviews! 


	20. I Wish I Knew How to Quit You!

Sorry for not updating this in a while. We've both been pretty busy with real life stuff and forgot to come back to this. Ah well, we're back and better than ever!

We do not own Lord of the Rings. That much hasn't changed.

* * *

The hall doors banged shut as Theoden exited the room. Shortly after, Gandalf burst into the room for the umpteenth time that day. Denethor was sure this was the end of his sanity (what little there was left).

"What is it now, Mithrandir?!" he sobbed into his robes, "You are a plague upon my house! A scourge! An ill omen! Why do you always come around when it is clear that you are not wanted? Please! Do not trouble me with your silly nonsense. Leave me now!"

"Okay."

Denethor blinked in shock. "W-was that all I had to do to get rid of you?"

"No. I came in here to announce my departure. I just remembered that I have something urgent to attend to elsewhere. I can't remember whether or not I turned off my stove at home."

"…He has a home?" the advisor mused. "Pray that I never have to see what that might look like!"

Denethor nodded heartily in agreement. Then he said, "Very well, Mithrandir. You are free to go. Only know this: if you should return to Minas Tirith, I cannot guarantee that our gates shall be open for you."

"That's okay, your Stewardness, for gates were never a trouble for Gandalf. And that's me."

"Yes, fine, now LEAVE!!!!!!!!!!!!" Denethor shrieked. "Dear Eru, man, before I lose myself, you must leave!"

"I wish I knew how to quit you!" Gandalf replied and kissed Denethor's scruffy chin. Everyone in the hall just stared at this unusual spectacle.

"What the hell was that?" Imrahil whispered to the advisor.

"I don't know. But I'm going to include all of this in my biography. Maybe then people will understand why I'm so disturbed."

Denethor then drew his ceremonial sword and said, "That tears it, you son of a bitch! I'm gonna kill you! KILL!"

"My, you have quite a big sword," Gandalf said as he calmly backed away.

"That's what she said," the advisor whispered.

"What? Who?" Imrahil responded.

"… never mind. It's just something I saw in a series of sci-fi plays. Quite naughty, really."

"INTERVENTION!!!!" The SBC members cried out and shot Denethor full of sedative darts for about the umpteenth time that day. It was almost becoming routine.

Denethor smiled and fell over and Gandalf stopped running. Then he turned around to everyone in the hall, winked, and said, "I always know how to get under his skin. I was hoping to drive him to resign and allow the king to return. Perhaps I just need to give it time. Farewell my friends and conspirators! Long live the king!" Then Gandalf turned on his heel, tripped, fell down, and then promptly exited the room.

Faramir, who had been in the room for the whole time just stood there speechless. His young mind was forever tainted by the events that had just transpired. It also didn't help that he had been standing next to Imrahil and the advisor.

"Hey, kid, don't worry, we'll let you join our therapy session," the advisor told him with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"Uh… thanks." Faramir said as Denethor got up from the ground and said, "I think I'm starting to develop a resistance to these things. All they did was make me feel drowsy and trip over my feet and temporarily lose consciousness. Now, does anybody here have any anti-cootie wipes? I need to hurry before I become infected."

"But, Father, there's no such thing as cooties!" Faramir pointed out.

"Like hell there aren't! Who told you such lying lies?"

"… Grace."

"Pft! That's one more good reason why she should have been fired. Under my tutelage, my son, you'll unlearn all that crap she put in your head. I suppose she told you that the moon isn't made out of cheese too? And that it's made of some type of space-rock? Hmmm?"

"Uh…"

"Dear lord, boy, you're worse than I thought! As soon as this whole complaint session mess is over, we're going to have to start reprogramming, I mean, re-teaching you at once!"

The silent cry of despair had never been written so loudly upon Faramir's face.

"Well then," Denethor said, resuming his seat in his most uncomfortable chair, "shall we move on? Things should go much more quick now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not here to bother us."

The doors opened and in walked perfection personified. She had gorgeous silky raven black hair that refracted the light in a divine way. Her eyes were two perfect blue orbs that sparkled like two flawless sapphires and showed both depth and infinite intelligence. Her skin was flawless and was a creamy color. She had a perfect figure which was covered by a tight, silky, sapphire-colored dress. When smiling, her teeth were pearly white and perfectly straight and could raise the morale of an army of men. However, she was not currently smiling. Her perfect, ruby-red, silky, sensuous lips were in a tight grimace expressing her holy and divine rage.

"Hi, Grace," Denethor said calmly, not noticing this. His eyes were lost in the black hole that was her cleavage. As were the eyes of every other man in the room except for the advisor (for pity's sake, he's her brother!) and Faramir (who did not have those interests yet). "Have you come to complain about something? If you're lonely, I would just like to say that I make an excellent companion, if you know what I mean." Denethor waggled his eyes suggestively at her cleavage, which was what he had been addressing the whole time.

Grace blinked several times, quite disturbed that a man three times her age at least was hitting on her. Confound these divine looks with which she was cursed!

"Father!" Faramir cried out. "You cheating wretch! What about mummy?"

"Mummy's been dead for quite some time already, dear child. Don't bother me and the pretty lady."

"But she's my tutor!"

"And she's my sister!" the advisor chimed in.

"Not anymore, Faramir!" Denethor said, ignoring his advisor.

"…getting to my complaint…" Grace said, feeling a brief flutter of irritation for the Steward's pigheadedness, "I want to know why you fired me. I have been doing an exceptional job teaching Faramir. I'd dare say I've almost been perfect."

"I can see that," Denethor said to her cleavage, "And that's why I wanted to reassign you. To teach me. There's so much I haven't learned."

"FATHER!!!" Faramir cried out, appalled, "If you don't know so much, then why are you going to be teaching me?"

"Pipe down, Faramir. Daddy and new Mummy are talking here."

"Okay, this has gotten just a little too creepy for me!" Grace said, "I'm getting out of here! Faramir, dear child, come with me before you become too corrupted to function. I have the newest black-market edition of _Living with Idiots: You're Not the Only Smart One Out There!_"

"Yay!" Faramir said and took Grace's hand and let himself be led out of the room.

As soon as Grace closed the doors, Denethor blinked and said, "What the hell just happened? I feel as though some spell took me…"

The advisor blinked but said nothing. He was used to seeing this kind of thing happen and knew that when Grace really turned it on she left men wordless and helpless. Much like Shelob.

At that moment, the doors of the hall banged open and in ran a distraught Theoden. "They're gone! Our sons, they're gone!"

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	21. Ted the Tubby

We don't own Lord of the Rings.

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"They're gone! Our sons, they're gone!" Theoden exclaimed.

"What?!" Denethor sat up in his chair. "What did you say?!"

"Boromir and Theodred have run away!"

"And what makes you think that?"

"I went to the Houses of Healing to make sure that Theodred had taken his sinus medication and Boromir had applied that salve…"

"-to his buttocks, yes, continue," Denethor finished. Everyone in the hall snickered except for Denethor and Theoden.

"And they weren't there! The healer on duty there just said that they'd decided to leave and had left a note in case either one of us went to find them," Theoden held up a piece of paper and handed it to Denethor who then began to read it out loud.

_To both of our fathers,_

_Theodred and I have decided that we've had enough of your cruel humiliation. At this rate, when we would both take up our rightful positions, there would be no respect left for us. Thus, we are running away. Far away. With no intention of returning._

_We shall both roam all of Middle Earth to try to find a suitable place to hide: a place so isolated that nobody will know us or our shame. I shall not tell you where we are headed as that would be counterproductive. But let it be known that there is no hope in finding us. We are like Tom and Huck in _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer _where they both run away to an island where nobody can find them and everyone thinks that they are dead. Only we will not be on an island. And we will not be dead. But I've said too much._

_This is the last that you shall hear from either of us. Know that we both hate both of you and that this whole mess is entirely your fault!_

_Love,_

_Boromir & Theodred, masters of their own destiny_

_p.s. I, Boromir, would like to have Faramir replace me as the heir to the Stewardship… and as Captain of the White Tower._

_p.s.s. Theodred would like his cousin Eomer to replace him as the heir to the Throne of Rohan._

_p.s.s.s. How's your itchy region? Did you get a chance to read those helpful books I sent you?_

_p.s.s.s.s. Theodred would like to inquire upon the condition of his Father's overly active sweat glands. He would also like to know if his sweat still smells like rotten bananas._

_p.s.s.s.s.s. Are you reading this out loud? If so, you are quite daft and should consider resigning the Stewardship right now (if Denethor is reading this, which I think he will be). Theoden can be excused as this would be his first time reading a runaway note. Though Theodred has been tempted to write one for a very long time._

_p.s.s.s.s.s.s. I like postscripts._

Denethor blinked and then said, "Bananas, really? And I thought I had problems…"

Theoden huffed but chose not to say anything; he was above such petty comments. Though personally he thought his physical ailment was a lot better than Denethor's 'itchy region'.

"So what are you going to do about your sons?" Imrahil asked.

"We will wait. In time they will realize their mistake and then come crawling back to us," Denethor said.

One of the guards poked his head into the room at this moment and said, "Steward, there's someone who wants to see you and was wondering if you were still taking complaints."

"Yes, yes, send him in," Denethor said. "Theoden, would you care to watch? You might be some help after all."

"Well, I have to do this all the time at Rohan. It should be amusing to see someone else suffering for a change."

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into," the advisor muttered as Theoden stood beside Denethor.

The doors burst open and in waddled a small mountain of lard, making a thumping noise each time one of its feet hit the floor.

The advisor winced and said, "Oh boy, not Ted."

"Ted?" Theoden asked in curiousity.

"My beyond-obese brother. He's a bottomless pit and will eat anything on sight."

Theoden just blinked in surprise. The area around them started to smell vaguely like rotten bananas.

"Ah, Ted, you have a complaint?" Denethor said.

A tiny circle on top of the mountain moved. That was his head. Ted then said, "Yes, I do. See, you have fired me from my position as tutor and this now leaves me broke and without a source of income."

"I gave you a generous severance payment, how could you be broke?"

"I had a small snack."

"…" Denethor was speechless and his mouth was hanging open.

"So… can you give me my job back? Or some more money? Or some food? I'm starving and I don't know how much longer I can last."

"I wonder how many loaves of lembas he'd go though," Imrahil mused to the advisor, who went white.

"I saw him go through ten once. And then he ate a whole meal ten minutes afterward."

Imrahil was now speechless.

"Well, Ted, I'm not sure. In your job before being Faramir's tutor, you were in charge of keeping track of all of our archives. And you ate the whole tale of Beren and Luthien!"

"Yeah, that was a tasty book. I'm terribly sorry, of course."

"Right, well, the point is that I don't know where to put you as your eating habits have become quite a hazard and – Ted, will you please put that statue down?"

Ted, who had been about to take a bite out of the large statue of Isildur, put it down sheepishly.

"Perhaps you should give him some more money for now and decide what he shall do later," Theoden suggested to Denethor, "I find that thinking things over before I make a decision makes things turn out better. That way I know I'm not rushing into anything."

"… Theoden! That's a brilliant idea!" Denethor then turned to the advisor. "Why didn't you come up with that? All you do is sit around and make snarky remarks! You're useless!"

"…" The advisor could think of nothing to say. He just shot Theoden a death-glare. Theoden pretended not to notice.

"If it makes you feel any better, I appreciate those snarky remarks," Imrahil said, "You know, I could use talent like yours back at Dol Amroth…" he noticed Denethor was staring at him and then whispered, "We'll talk later."

"Anyway, Ted, I will give to you the sum of 60,000 gondorians until I find a position requiring your particular talents," Denethor said. "You are dismissed."

"Thank you, Steward," Ted said, bowed, and then waddled out of the room, barely fitting through the large doors.

"Very well, then. I guess I should resume taking complaints. Guards, send in the next-" But before Denethor could finish his sentence, the doors flew open and in walked three silhouettes.

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Thanks to those of you who reviewed for the previous chapter (you know who you are). Please leave lots of reviews for reviews make us very happy!


	22. Gandalf, Thorongil, and Bilbo

We don't own Lord of the Rings.

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Three silhouettes walked into the room. Denethor let out a scream as he recognized the accursed form of Gandalf amongst them. Denethor then looked at the others and let out a scream as he recognized another to be Thorongil. The third one was a very short old man with very hairy bare feet.

"You! And you!" Denethor cried out. "How'd you get in here! And why do you darken my halls again?"

"Well, your Stewardness, nobody stopped us," Gandalf replied sedately.

"Wh-what?!"

"Had you put out an order barring Gandalf from the city?" Thorongil asked.

"N-no. Not yet. But it was on my to-do list! But that's beside the point! What are you doing here?"

"We are here," said the very short old man, "to complain!"

"Very well. State your name," Denethor said.

"Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, son of-"

"That will suffice. I've never heard of this 'Shire'. Is it a part of Gondor?"

"… No."

"Then why are you here? This complaint session is reserved for the citizens of Gondor only."

"But your Stewardness," Gandalf interjected, "I complain all of the time and I am not a citizen. Please hear out my dear old friend Bilbo."

"… Oh dear Eru, he's your friend? Very well," Denethor gulped, "Mr. Baggins, what is your complaint?"

"Well, two human boys-"

"As opposed to-?"

"Well, Hobbit boys, of course."

"… Hobbit? What is a Hobbit?"

And thus Denethor and everyone else in the hall were subjected to Bilbo's half-hour long pre-prepared lecture on Hobbits that he was hoping to use for a book he was writing. By the end, they were all praying for it to stop.

"There is such a thing as too much information," the advisor whispered in an aside to Imrahil and Theoden, "And this goes above and beyond that." They heartily agreed.

"So, what was your complaint?" Denethor asked, hoping that it would not lead to another bombastic speech.

"Ah, yes, I had almost forgotten about that-"

"Oh, you are definitely Gandalf's friend alright," the advisor murmured.

"Well, two human boys had somehow strayed into the Shire. I believe one of them was your son, your Stewardness," Bilbo said, "The other was a prince of some kind. Came from a land called Rohan. Now I don't know much about Rohan but…"

"GET TO THE POINT!" Everyone in the hall yelled.

"Right, well, they stole something from me. Something very _precious _to me," Bilbo was now sticking his hand in his coat pocket, as if caressing something.

"And you want it back?" Denethor asked, trying to prevent Bilbo from going off on another tangent.

"Eh, no. Gandalf helped me get that back. So then after that, they began to bother my nephew, Frodo. They beat him up and hog-tied him and then hung him in a tree. It was lucky Gandalf and I were pursuing those two rascals otherwise he would have been hanging there for hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and-"

"WE GET IT ALREADY!" everyone in the hall yelled.

"How old was your nephew?" Denethor asked.

"Oh, well, he's in his tweens. I think he just turned twenty."

"… How does that make any sense?" the advisor murmured.

"I don't think that matters," Imrahil replied.

Denethor blinked. "My son is eleven. How could he possibly have beaten up a twenty-year-old?"

"Ah, well Frodo still has some growing to do. You know, Hobbits in their tweens…"

"That's quite alright, no need to explain," Denethor said.

"Alright. Well, then, we were pursuing the young rascals, by we I mean Gandalf and myself, of course, and a little before we got to Bree we met up with this feller, Strider, here," Bilbo gestured to a fidgeting Thorongil.

"What? That man's name is Thorongil, not Strider," Denethor said.

"Definitely a friend of Gandalf," the advisor murmured.

"Perhaps a demented lovechild of Gandalf," Imrahil replied.

"Gandalf and who, a dwarf?"

"Possibly."

"_Anyway_," Bilbo said, clearing his throat, "Strider, or Thorongil, or whatever you want to call him, was pursuing two rogue children who had been disturbing the local peace. We were able to determine that our targets were the same so we teamed up. We searched through all of Bree only to find them severely inebriated at the Prancing Pony, very good ale they have, you know, I believe that their brew has been the finest for generations-"

"Yes, well," Thorongil mercifully stepped in, "We captured the lads before they could do any more harm both to the people around them and their livers, and we returned Bilbo's precious," Thorongil gave Bilbo an odd look as he (Bilbo) began to lick his pocket. "And we would have brought the boys with us but _someone_," he gave a meaningful glance at Gandalf who was staring placidly up at the ceiling as if nothing was wrong, "let them get away. And they were still drunk, mind you! They could barely stand and _he_ let them get away. I mean, doesn't that just – ARGH!" Thorongil punched the wall in his frustration.

Denethor twitched, "You let them go!!!!" he hissed, "I swear, if I find out that anything… unpleasant happens to them, it will be entirely your fault!!!!"

"Ah, they also left this letter behind," Thorongil said, pulling out a piece of paper and handing it to Denethor, who squinted for a moment and then said, "My, my, this is quite sloppy. I can barely read it. Well then, here goes:"

_Dear Father or Fathers or Gloopy, or Butterbeer, or whoever I was intending to write this to before I got too smashed to remember,_

_We like beer. We would like some more. Why the hell am I writing a letter? I like cherries too. They taste good with beer. Beer tastes so good. Did I mention that I like beer? Twitterbee!_

Denethor blinked, "There are a couple of illegible paragraphs. I can only make out the end."

_And then I woke up to find my face plastered to a beer mug. And then I spilled it on this letter. Anyway, that was my dream that I had after I fell asleep from drinking so much. I feel like it was life-changing and very important. Almost like a detailed prophetic vision of the next forty years or so. It was pretty intense. #$%^%#^%$&*^%$^&%$^&&*^%$$##$^&%$#!!!!!!!_

_Love,_

_Boromir_

_p.s. Itchy region!_

_p.s.s. Rotten bananas!_

_p.s.s.s. Chair!_

_p.s.s.s.s. Glomp._

_p.s.s.s.s.s. I think we just got caught._

_p.s. It comes in pints!_

_p.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s. Urghlaghuuuuu…_

_p.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s. I think I'm drunk._

Denethor blinked. The hall was silent. Nobody could think of anything to say. Denethor thought that his brain had just imploded and then exploded the second after that. That's how utterly bizarre this letter was.

Gandalf finally broke the silence, "Ah, I just remembered! I still have to check to see if I left the stove on at home! Come along, Bilbo, old chum!"

"Wait, but – but – but –but…" Thorongil spluttered.

"Goodbye Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor. Until we meet again!" Gandalf said and then strode out of the hall with Bilbo in tow. Everyone stared at Thorongil/Strider/Aragorn.

"Eh, it's Gandalf. He probably doesn't know what he's saying," Thorongil muttered, "Don't pay him any heed."

And everyone accepted that credible, albeit false, argument.

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	23. Borlas son of Targon

We don't own Lord of the Rings.

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"Thorongil," Denethor said, "Why do you not leave with your companions?" Personally, he wanted that menace away from his city as soon as possible.

"Companions? Nay. I don't like them very much, to tell you the truth. They can be quite daft at times. And seeing as I'm in no hurry to return to my post… I think I shall stay here for a bit and rest. I could use the entertainment," Thorongil said and went up to the King's throne and sat upon it.

"Thorongil! Get down, you fool! Only the king is permitted to sit upon the King's Throne! Why do you think I choose to sit down here upon this large uncomfortable splinter?"

"Oh, um, sorry," Thorongil said, hastily getting up, "I had forgotten that this was the king's. So sorry. But it is quite comfortable…" For a moment, Thorongil thought about making his claim to the throne of Gondor, solely based on that comfortable chair. After all, there was nothing in the wild that comfortable and it was quite soothing to his sore backside. But, nay, he had renounced that path long ago… Thorongil walked away from the King's throne (OMG, symbolism!) and chose to sit on a bench near the Steward's chair, wincing as splinters found their marks.

Denethor raised an eyebrow at Thorongil's strange behavior. How could he have forgotten something as important as what that lofty chair signified? Denethor huffed, wishing for a comfortable chair once again, but knowing well that there were no funds for such a thing. And certainly the charitable citizens of Gondor would never give him such a gift, no matter how hard he worked for them. And of course no foreigner would think to bring a thing as simple as a chair cushion for tribute, no, all they brought were horses or exotic dancing women or occasionally some mints.

The advisor, Imrahil, and Theoden all wished that they had someplace comfy to sit by the Steward's side. They had been standing for the entire session and their feet felt profoundly swollen, though the advisor and Imrahil felt much worse as Theoden had only recently joined them.

"Well, let's try to resume this session, again," Denethor said, "Honestly, can't we even have one complaint from someone who is a citizen and follows the proper procedures for once?" No sooner had he said this did the hall doors burst open and in ran a rather dirty lad who smelled quite strongly of horses. And, no, contrary to what you may be thinking right now, he was not from Rohan.

"State your name," Denethor said, although he was slightly annoyed that he had not even called for the next person.

"Borlas, son of Targon," the boy said.

"Wow, for once, someone with a refreshingly normal name," the advisor murmured.

"Quite," Imrahil replied.

"And what is your complaint, Borlas son of Targon?" Denethor asked.

"Well, it's not so much as a complaint as a message, sir. You see, Gandalf has run off with the King of Rohan's horse and the stable master thought it prudent to send me to tell you to tell him."

Theoden's eyes bugged. "What?! What happened to Stormcrow?"

Borlas gulped as he saw the king of Rohan in the flesh. "Uh…" he gulped again, "I'm sorry, it's just that I've never been in the presence of true royalty before… let me collect myself, please, sir…"

Denethor and Thorongil both grumbled silently for their own reasons at Theoden's special treatment. After all, they were people of power too and they didn't get people groveling at their feet every time they so much as showed up somewhere.

Borlas managed to regain his composure. "I'm sorry, your Highness, but Gandalf took your noble steed and there was naught I could do about it. He just waltzed in and took it while I was getting the horses some more food and water. I'm awfully sorry, sir."

"Well, that's fine, lad," Theoden said, "Please get off your knees for it is not your fault. But if I ever see Gandalf again, I shall eviscerate him slowly and painfully."

"Ah, how I've wanted to do that now for so long…" Denethor wistfully mused. He then turned to Borlas and said, "Go, lad, you've done your job… unless you wanted to grovel before the mighty and powerful Steward. You know, it's not every day that you actually get to meet the man in charge of your city."

"Eh, that's okay, sir," Borlas said, "I should really be getting back to those horses anyway. I still have a lot of muck to clean out of those stalls." He bowed deeply to King Theoden and said, "Your Highness," and then promptly ran out of the room.

"Grubby-faced twit," Denethor muttered, "Doesn't know a leader when he sees one."

"Obviously," Thorongil agreed. The two of them received a look from Theoden, who was quite enjoying the unexpected attention. If only people back at home treated him like that…

Denethor sighed. "Well, at least that one went semi-normally. It wasn't a complaint and he didn't wait his turn, but…"

The doors burst open and in galloped Gandalf on top of a majestic horse. He stopped inches from Denethor and dismounted. He then bowed deeply and said, "Your Stewardness. Ah, how I am humbled by your mighty and powerful presence. It is not often that I am able to behold such a presence and I am very grateful each time I do."

"You do realize that you see me quite often, Gandalf," Denethor pointed out, twitching slightly.

"You idiot! Look at what you've done to my horse!" Theoden screamed, gesturing to the fine beast, which was now panting and foaming at the mouth, "He was the finest bred horse in all of Rohan! He was hand-picked for me and trained by the finest horse masters and now you've ruined him! You know, we might even have to put him down!" Theoden then ran over to the horse and stroked it, saying, "There, there, Stormcrow, I'm here. I won't let that strange man go anywhere near you ever again."

Nobody even thought of saying anything about how melodramatic Theoden was being right now.

"Ah, but your complaints must wait, Theoden King, for I have brought even mightier guests," Gandalf said, "And they wish… to complain."

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	24. Elrond, Arwen, and Legolas

We don't own Lord of the Rings.

And, for those of you who were wondering, we are aware that the travelling times are way off as it took Boromir 110 days to get to just Rivendell in the books. In this universe, the space-time continuum is utterly irrelevant. That's what makes it funny. :D

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"Ah, but your complaints must wait, Theoden King, for I have brought even mightier guests," Gandalf said, "And they wish… to complain."

Denethor twitched. "But this is only a complaint session for the citizens of Gondor, not the entire bloody continent!"

"I do not think that matters much, Your Stewardness, as you seem to have gone against that numerous times," Gandalf retorted, "And if I were you, I would not turn away such mighty guests as these."

"Oh, come on? How special can they be? I've seen all of the noblest of men and I don't think they're that special."

"HEY!" Imrahil, Theoden, and Thorongil exclaimed, taking that as an insult.

"So who did you bring, Mithrandir, hmm? No, wait, let me guess-" But before Denethor could say anything more the doors banged open and in walked three of the fairest folk Denethor had ever seen. They walked gracefully up to Denethor; they seemed to him to be beyond mere men. And that's when Denethor realized it. "- ELVES?!"

"Ah! How did you know?" Gandalf asked, clearly not noticing their entrance.

The middle elf which had the most masculine vibe about him of the three cleared his throat. Gandalf turned around and said, "Ah, Elrond! Such perfect timing. You know, I do believe the prophetic nature of elves still lives in these men; for His High Stewardness was able to predict your arrival."

"…Quite," Elrond said, trying to keep his patience while dealing with this buffoon.

At this point, Thorongil, stood up and said, "Elrond! Arwen! Legolas! What are you three doing here?"

"You know them?" Denethor asked, trying not to feel like he was being totally upstaged by people out of his league.

Elrond ignored Denethor and said, "Estel? What are you doing here? Surely you do not intend to cl-"

"-aim your daughter's hand? Certainly not! If I've been told off by you once, I've been told off by you a thousand times. I am aware that I am nowhere near being ready to marry her," then Thorongil/Aragorn/Estel/Strider made goo-goo eyes at the second-most feminine elf in the room who returned them in like, "But one day I shall. You shall not keep us apart!"

"Indeed," said the elf who had been making goo-goo eyes at Aragorn.

The most feminine elf of the three tossed its silky blonde hair and said, "Excuse me? Why am I even here if she doesn't even want to marry me, Lord Elrond?"

"Oh, she wants to marry you, Legolas," Elrond replied, "She just doesn't know it yet."

Of course, the whole conversation had just been spoken in Elvish so nobody else knew what the heck was going on. Denethor cleared his throat and said, "Kindly speak our language, master elves, so that we can all understand what is going on here."

"Of course, Denethor Steward," Elrond said, bowing stiffly, "Very well then, we shall address our complaint."

"You mean _your_ complaint," Arwen said moodily, folding her arms.

"Don't give me that attitude!" Elrond snapped at her and then said, "Our complaint. Are you aware that two of your adolescents are running around wreaking havoc?"

"… Yes. Thorongil has informed me that they had already been encountered in the Shire," Denethor replied.

"What about me, Your Stewardness?" Gandalf asked.

"You're an idiot! You're the one who let them escape!" Thorongil snapped.

"Anyway, our complaint," Elrond said, "Your two children-"

"Actually, to be fair, only one of them is my child. The other is Theoden's brat."

Theoden glared at Denethor and said, "He's not a brat! He's nowhere near as spoiled as that son of yours!"

Denethor glared back and opened his mouth to retort but a rather irate Elrond cut him off. "Our complaint, please! Anyway, those two children were in Rivendell and disrupted a rather important negotiation. For you see, I am trying to find a _suitable_ husband for my lovely daughter, Arwen-"

"And what a lovely woman she is," Denethor said, looking at Legolas, who had now pulled out his compact mirror to admire himself and reapply his makeup.

"…" Elrond blinked for a moment and then said, "My daughter is over there," he pointed to Arwen, who had resumed making goo-goo eyes at Thorongil/Estel/Strider/Aragorn. "The one you are admiring is Legolas Greenleaf, _Prince_ of Mirkwood."

Denethor's eyes bulged as he realized what a large faux pas he had just committed… and at the realization that the feminine creature he had been _admiring_ was actually… _male_. Ew. Legolas looked up from his preening, utterly nonplussed. He was used to being called a girl by now.

"_Anyway_," Elrond said, "Our complaint. Legolas here was sent by his father as a possible suitor for my daughter and we were talking shortly before those two delinquents came in drunk as skunks, I believe, and tried to alter the Prince of Mirkwood's hair."

Legolas sniffed again and flipped said golden locks. "They were going to try to cut it using a practice sword. Do you know what awful split ends that would have given me and how long it would have taken to get my hair back to normal?"

"Uh… I'm quite sorry that they would try to do something so terrible to you," Denethor said awkwardly, still flailing from his gaffe earlier.

"Oh, but that's not the half of it!" Legolas whined, "They tried to pull my hair off of my head! Said it must have been a wig! It _hurt_! And then they tried to set it on fire! And I must add that they smelled abominably and quite strongly of ale! I had to wash three times before I got the stink off of me! They're abominable monsters, I tell you, and they should both be executed for their horrible deeds!"

"See, this is exactly why I don't like him, Father!" Arwen butted in, "He's such a whiny prince-ling! How on earth do you expect me to live with someone like that for the rest of my life? Ugh!"

"Now, now, Arwen, I told you we'd discuss this later," Elrond put in. "We can't have a row in front of _another_ leader."

"Psh! Gran and Gramps know we fight quite often!"

"It's the concept of it, Arwen. It makes us look undignified having fights in such a public manner. Recall that it was gossip in the courts of Lothlorien for quite some time."

"Honestly, Father, you care too much about that!"

"Look what this air is doing to my hair!" Legolas whined, looking in his compact, "The ashes, filth, and fumes are totally throwing off its color!"

"SILENCE!" Denethor said. "Now, if you're quite done with your complaints, would you kindly leave?"

"Oh, but we're not!" Elrond said.

"Oh dear Eru!" Denethor whispered to himself.

"I heard that!" Elrond said, gesturing to his pointy ears, "Now, back to our complaint. We were able to get those two hooligans under control and were going to deliver them to you but _someone_," Elrond gave Gandalf a dirty look, "managed to let them escape."

"In my defense, they are quite slippery little devils," Gandalf said.

"They were tied up head to toe in elvish rope! What did they do? Make it vanish?"

"Well, admittedly I untied them, but I had a very good reason for doing so!"

"And what was that?" Elrond asked.

"Boromir threatened to disembowel me if I didn't untie them in that instant. He said he had a sword and knew how to use it. It was quite scary!"

"… Gandalf?"

"Yes, Lord Elrond?"

"You do realize that: one, it was a practice sword; two, he was tied up and thus could not harm you; three, you have a sword of your own; and four, he's only a child! I think you could have easily defended yourself against that!"

"Ah, well, I was quite frightened at the time. I couldn't think as rationally as you are now."

"Ugh!" Everyone in the hall exclaimed, clapping a hand to their foreheads. With the exception of Legolas, that is, who just tsked and continued to study himself in his little mirror.

Before anything else could happen, the doors burst open. Denethor yelled, "I didn't send for the next person yet! Go back and wait your turn like a civilized person!"

"But I came to see the Elves!" Faramir exclaimed. He gaped in awe as he looked upon them. "That one's very pretty," he said, gesturing to Legolas, "She's more fair than Grace!"

"She's a he you dolt!" Denethor snapped.

"Oh, yeah, like you didn't make that mistake earlier," the advisor murmured.

"I heard that!" Denethor yelled, gesturing to his quite plain, if slightly large, ears. Of course, the effect was not the same as when Elrond did it.

"My goodness, you're a man?" Faramir said to Legolas. "I am so sorry."

"Don't worry, you're not the first," Legolas said, flipping his golden hair, "Your father made that mistake before you," he did not notice Denethor turning a shade of purple that might either be anger or severe embarrassment, "In fact, one of my own kin made that same mistake a couple of years ago. He proposed to me and everything. Poor guy was devastated to learn that I was male… but he still held his proposal." Legolas shrugged, nonplussed. Because that's all Legolas can ever be. Other than when he puts on his ambiguously tense look, which is the only other face he can actually manage.

"Okay, then…" Again, Faramir had been scarred for life.

"How come nobody ever says I'm pretty?" Arwen pouted. "I'm actually an elf-maiden you know!"

"Don't worry, Arwen," Thorongil said, "I think you're gorgeous." And they smooched. In front of everyone. Thorongil lacks any tact or secrecy whatsoever.

"That's it!" Elrond said, his face turning a livid shade of red, "We're leaving! Come on, Arwen!" Elrond yanked her away from Thorongil mid-kiss and stormed out of the hall. Legolas merely pranced after them as nonplussed as usual.

However, before Legolas could fully exit the room, a relatively new member of the SBC accidentally fired a stray sedative dart. It had actually been aimed for Elrond, but as the elf had moved so fast, it didn't reach him and instead struck Legolas. This triggered a couple more members to fire their darts and soon Legolas looked like an elf-pincushion. With great hair.

He blinked for a moment, looking himself over. Then a tell-tale creepy smile crept over his face as the sedatives seeped into his system and affected him. He turned to Denethor and pointed to Thorongil, saying, "This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn son of Arathorn! You owe him your allegiance!" Then the smile slightly faded and he looked at his fingers, "I feel a slight tingling sensation in my fingers. I think it's affecting me." Then the mighty princeling fell over onto the ground.

Thorongil paled. How the heck was he supposed to get out of this one? All eyes were on him and he started to sweat. "Lies!" he exclaimed, "All lies! If I were truly the heir to the throne, wouldn't I have some proof? Like, say, the shards of Narsil or the ring of Barahir?" Thorongil put his right hand behind his back as he said this.

"I believe you," Faramir said, "You should have proof." But secretly Faramir thought that there was more to this Thorongil than meets the eye. But perhaps it was just his overactive six-year-old's imagination.

"Alrighty then," Denethor said, "Take that elf to the Houses of Healing until he recovers." Thorongil breathed a sigh of relief. Another bullet dodged.

Suddenly Legolas sprang up and said, "I broke a nail! But other than that I'm fine. I'll be going now; I just hope that Arwen and Elrond didn't leave yet." And Legolas pranced out of the hall.

"Ah, my Lady!" Gandalf said to Legolas, "Let me escort you back! And then I can check up on my stove!" Gandalf quickly followed Legolas out of the room before Theoden could look up from his horse and remember his quarrel with Gandalf.

"Oh, they're gone," Faramir said dejectedly, "Well, that was educational! And now I should go back to my lessons with Grace! Goodbye, Father!"

"Not so fast!" Denethor cried out. He got up out of his seat and tackled the small child (the SBC remarkably let this happen as they had used up all of their darts and were going back to HQ to get ones that had more of a kick to them). "Theoden, get me some rope! We're going to tie up this little hooligan so that he can't go back to that demon!"

"Gotcha!" Theoden said, handing Denethor some rope that had been on his beloved horse's saddle.

"Help, help!" Faramir cried out, struggling. "Uncle Imrahil, please do something!"

"…" Imrahil said nothing. He knew there was nothing he could do.

Denethor took the rope from Theoden and coiled it tightly around Faramir's body until the boy was unable to move. Then, as Denethor was tying the rest of the rope to one of the torches on the wall so that Faramir would dangle like a pendulum, the doors burst open and a voice screamed, "DENETHOR, HOW DARE YOU?! YOU'RE IN A HEAP OF TROUBLE THIS TIME!"

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Guess who it is? No, seriously, guess.

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	25. Ivriniel and Anonymous Cloaked Figure

We do not own Lord of the Rings.

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"DENETHOR, HOW DARE YOU?! YOU'RE IN A HEAP OF TROUBLE THIS TIME!" a voice shrieked.

"Aunt!" Faramir cried out, relieved.

"Sister!" Imrahil said, surprised.

Denethor looked up from his knot-tying to see who had been yelling. "Ah, Ivriniel! What a surprise! This isn't what it looks like, you know!"

Ivriniel and one other person who was heavily bundled up in various garments walked further into the hall. Ivriniel was seething. "Oh really? Then what is it you're doing? Because from here it looks like you're trying to turn Faramir into a piñata!"

"We were just… uh… well, I was giving Faramir a time-out. He was misbehaving quite abominably."

Ivriniel put her hands on her hips. "Since when has a 'time out' been physical punishment?"

"Uh…"

"I don't think you're taking care of those children properly, Steward. Which is why I think they should be taken off to live with us at Dol Amroth."

"N-no! I'm doing perfectly fine with them! You just came in at a bad time, that's all!"

"Oh really? Then tell me, where is Boromir?"

"He ran away," Denethor muttered, looking at his feet.

"What did you say?" Ivriniel asked, not having heard.

"He ran away," Imrahil said. "He took King Theoden's son with him and now they are apparently on a terrorizing spree across all of Middle Earth. To our knowledge, they passed through the Shire, Bree, became fairly inebriated, and then passed through Imraldris." Ivriniel's face turned bright red and she looked like she was about to murder someone with her bare hands. Her heavily cloaked companion just put its hands to where its mouth supposedly was.

"Thanks a lot, Imrahil," Denethor hissed, "I think I can talk for myself though."

"Can someone please untie me now? I think I'm beginning to lose feeling in my toes. And my legs. And my arms." Faramir asked.

"That tears it, Denethor!" Ivriniel drew a dagger and advanced toward Denethor, who edged away, fearing for his life.

"Put that thing away, woman, and let's discuss this like two rational human beings!" Denethor shrieked.

Ivriniel raised an eyebrow. "I was only going to cut your son free, Steward."

"Eh, right, I knew that," Denethor replied.

Ivriniel cut Faramir down and cut the ropes that bound him so tightly. Faramir then made sure that Ivriniel was between him and his father… just to be safe.

"I think that we, meaning Imrahil and I, should have sole custody of your sons as you seem to be incapable of taking care of them properly," Ivriniel said, giving Denethor a death-glare, "Faramir, what would you say to that?"

"Do you have a library?"

"Yes."

"Then great! When do we leave?"

"You're that eager to leave your father?" Ivriniel asked, thinking that she would have gotten at least a little bit of resistance.

"He hates me, he doesn't spend time with me, and he treats me poorly. Of course I'm eager to leave him!"

"None of that is true! He's just exaggerating because he's angry at me for firing his tutor. I did so not because I hate him but because she's… well, you'd have to see for yourself."

"Right," Ivriniel said, glaring.

"He really is a mean person," Faramir said. "Truly cruel and evil for such vile deeds! Oh, and he constantly embarrasses Boromir too. That's why he ran away."

"There, there," Ivriniel said, "Why don't you go over there," she gestured to where her heavily cloaked friend had taken a seat on the bench next to Thorongil and had begun to have a whispered conversation with him, "and my good friend will take care of you."

Faramir nodded and walked over to where the cloaked figure was sitting. The cloaked figure turned away from Thorongil and seemed to have an exchange of words with Faramir and then the figure moved one of its heavily cloaked arms up to its heavily cloaked head and pulled some of the cloth away to reveal its face for a brief moment. Faramir let out a cry of joy and embraced the cloaked figure who hugged him back wholeheartedly.

"Ivriniel, what do you think you're playing at?" Imrahil asked her, "You know that…" He paused as he received glances from everyone in the hall, including Denethor. "…I've said too much."

"Now, we shall wait right here until you manage to find that other son of yours," Ivriniel said. "And we will not move until we have him in our custody."

"Like hell you will! Those are my sons, lady! They're my heirs! There is no way that you're taking them away from me!"

"Well said!" Theoden boomed, looking up from his horse, which was still in the hall.

"They are also children of Dol Amroth and thus rightly belong there!" Ivriniel pointed out. "Plus, how do you know they're really _your_ sons?"

Denethor blinked and looked as though Ivriniel had slapped him in the face. "Wh-what did you say?"

"How do you know that they're really _your_ sons? You know, there are plenty of men in Minas Tirith. I recall Findy wrote to me about one particularly handsome one… what was his name… something with a T…"

"Are you saying that-? But Finny would never-! But- but- but- but-!" Denethor suddenly looked at Thorongil with suspicion.

"Alright, come on Ivrie, we both know Findy never did any such a thing. Stop torturing the poor man!" Imrahil said, stepping forward, "He already has enough on his mind to drive him out of it."

"So true," the advisor whispered.

"The point is that Dol Amroth has as much claim, if not more, to these children as the Steward," Ivriniel said.

"But Dol Amroth already has an heir!" Denethor pointed out. "Two generations of heirs, in fact! I have but these two boys to succeed me. And my two sisters. But they're crazy. You wouldn't want either one of them to be Steward, trust me."

"But Auntie Rian is completely sane!" Faramir protested. "And she said she'd have nothing to do with us after you tried to cut her up with that kitchen knife last Midwinter."

"Thank you, _Faramir_!" Denethor hissed through clenched teeth, twitching, "Please, please, I dare you, _try_ to give them more reason to take you and your brother away from me!"

"Okay. But Auntie Beruthiel, on the other hand, is pure evil. You know, she's been breeding cats. And she tried to sic them on me and Boromir for sneaking around one time. One almost killed him! I was able to pull it off of him and then it mauled me and cut up my right leg! I still have the scars! Wanna see?"

"Alright, that's enough, Faramir!" Denethor snapped.

Faramir grinned evilly and was silent.

"Well, Steward, it seems that I have plenty of reasons as to why these children should not be living in your halls," Ivriniel said. "I shall have them out of here by the end of the month!"

"But if you take them, I shall disavow and disinherit them! What do you have to say about that?"

Ivriniel snorted, "It's not like we're going to need Stewards much longer, eh Thorongil?"

Thorongil flinched and muttered, "I wish people would stop blowing my cover!" The cloaked figure patted him on the back compassionately. Faramir appeared not to have heard.

Before anyone could fully contemplate the meaning of Ivriniel's words, the doors burst open and in came… Gandalf! He strode into the hall with purpose but stopped when he saw the bench full of people.

"Ah, good day, Fin," he said, "When did you get here? You know, your husband is under the impression that you are dead! Hah!"

The cloaked figure let out a muted groan and Thorongil now compassionately put his arm around her.

"Gandalf, you idiot! I'm Ivriniel!" Ivriniel said hastily, trying to cover up what Gandalf had revealed, "I don't even look that much like Findy!"

"Finny!" Denethor corrected.

"Fin!" Gandalf corrected.

"Finduilas!" the cloaked figure mutedly added.

"Why, that's you!" Gandalf said.

"But I told you! I'm Ivriniel, you bumbling idiot!"

"But I was addressing-" Gandalf started to say. Ivriniel strode across the room and knocked Gandalf over the head. He fell to the floor, unconscious. The hall erupted into cheers and applause at that heroic act. But mostly the cheers were coming from Denethor.

It was this scene that two dwarves walked in on. One looked at the other and said, "Perhaps it was a bad idea to come here, Balin."

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	26. Balin and Gimli

We don't own Lord of the Rings.

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"Perhaps it was a bad idea to come here, Balin," one dwarf whispered to another as they observed the strange scene before them. The one named Balin nodded.

Denethor stopped his hearty congratulations of Ivriniel's extraordinary deed to look at the two newcomers in awe. Never before in his life had he seen dwarves before… this was a strange day indeed.

"Welcome, lords of the mountains!" Denethor called out in greeting, "To what do I owe this rare visit?"

"Are you the Steward of Gondor?" asked Balin.

"Indeed. And who are you?"

"I am Balin, Lord of Moria. And this is my cousin, Gimli son of Gloin. And we are brought here by our desire to complain."

"Oh, I should have known. Let me guess, two young boys one of Gondor and one of Rohan came and disturbed you in some mundane way that you feel the need to come and bitch to me about even though I am powerless to do anything. And you managed to catch them but then Gandalf let them get away on some act of idiocy."

"So it is true that these men can see into the future!" Gimli exclaimed in awe.

"Nay," Balin said, to his naïve cousin and then turned to Denethor, "Who came before us?"

"A witless Halfling from the Shire, a Ranger from the North, and a group of Elves from Rivendell. And you hail from Moria, I presume?"

"Indeed, we have come from Moria," Balin replied. "Your boys-"

"Now, be fair, only one of them is mine," Denethor pointed out. "Therefore, I am only partly to blame. You should fault Theoden too!"

"Very well then," Balin said, "Those two boys, they came into Moria. I don't know how, but somehow they managed to figure out the password…"

"Well, come on, cousin, it wasn't that hard to figure out," Gimli remarked, "It's in the bloody riddle. _…speak 'friend' and enter._ I read it out loud and the doors opened for me. Honestly, you shouldn't have something that obvious in the Common Tongue."

"Hmmm, yes, I suppose we should work on our passwords…" Balin muttered, "But then again it was Gandalf's idea in the first place."

"Change it. Now," Thorongil said, "Or Moria will soon be a tomb." The room echoed with the ominous prophecy of his words.

"_Anyway_," Balin said, "I did not come here to have the security of my home berated. I came here to tell you of the unspeakable act your boys committed."

"Oh, let me guess!" Denethor said sarcastically and mockingly, sick of these utterly mundane complaints from these foreigners, "They tried to cut off your beard. No, wait! They tried to toss you, didn't they! Oh no, did they mock you for your diminutive height?"

"Wow, you can really tell how skilled he is in diplomacy," the advisor murmured to Imrahil, who nodded.

Both of the dwarves were angered and shocked. "Master Steward, we dwarves would not move from our mines to complain to you unless it was something serious," Balin said angrily, "And indeed, their actions have caused a great deal of misery, even loss of life, to those of us who call Moria our home."

Denethor blinked and paled, regretting his hasty words. "I apologize sincerely, Master Dwarf," he said, "for it has been a stressful day. Please continue."

"They awoke a Balrog," Balin said. "I don't know how, but they caused it to go on a rampage. It took many lives of our miners. It will be a long road to recovery and I fear our production of mithril will be quite hindered."

Denethor blinked in shock… an actually legitimate grievance! He resisted the urge to whoop and dance about for that might further soil his standing with these dwarves. Instead, he said, "That is serious indeed. Forgive me for making light of such a heavy event. What can Gondor do to aid you?"

"Naught, I fear," Balin said, "There is no compensation you are able to give. Unless you think one of your people able to slay such a terrible beast." His eyes subconsciously moved to Gandalf's unconscious form.

"You can take him if you want him," Denethor said, trying to sound casual and trying to restrain himself from begging.

"No, it was nothing, just a feeling…" Balin said and took in a deep breath, silent.

"We did manage to capture the little beasties, though!" Gimli put in cheerfully. "They put up quite a fight, but they were no match for my axe!"

"You killed my son?!" Denethor and Theoden both shrieked.

"Naw, I'm not allowed to have a real axe. My kin are under the impression that I'd go on a killing spree, trying to kill as many as possible, whether orc or dwarf or man or elf… I just used a wood pretend child's axe to knock them unconscious."

"Then how did they escape if they were unconscious?" Denethor asked, relieved that his son was not dead.

"Well, you see, Gandalf volunteered to carry them back. We went with him out the back entrance but, you see, he kind of…" Balin started to say but then Gandalf suddenly stood up.

"I fear that they did slip from my grasp and took a little tumble down a hill," Gandalf said with a shrug. "And they tumbled and tumbled and tumbled…"

"…until we lost them in the Woods of Lothlorien," Balin finished.

"L-L-L-Lothlorien?!" Denethor exclaimed.

"They say that a witch lives there. An elf witch. And all who enter her woods are ensnared… and are never seen again," Gimli said.

"Thank you for reminding me of that, Master Dwarf, it must have slipped my memory," Denethor said sarcastically.

The cloaked figure who was definitely not Finduilas gasped and put her cloaked hands to her cloaked mouth. Ivriniel glared at Denethor and said, "You see? This just proves it! These children do not belong underneath your supervision!"

"What's going to happen to Boromir?" Faramir asked, unsure.

"Nobody knows," Gimli said, "For it is rare for anyone to have ever exited the Golden Wood after entering it. Those few who managed were… changed."

"Rubbish!" Thorongil exclaimed. "I've been there loads of times! It's actually quite pleasant. And the elves sure do have great hospitality! Don't worry, Faramir," then under his breath he added, "Finduilas," resuming his normal tone he said, "nothing ill will befall those boys."

Gimli snorted and refused to believe such nonsense.

"Well, now, we have dallied enough," Balin said, "For now you know of our grievances and are indebted to us. If ever we should call, it would be wise of Gondor to answer," he turned to Theoden and said, "and Rohan as well. For now though we must hasten back and repair the damage your sons have caused. Farewell!" Balin and Gimli both exited the hall.

"Wait for me!" Gandalf cried out, "I shall follow you! For I still have not checked upon my stove and I fear that soon my house might be burnt to the ground because of my carelessness!" Gandalf ran out of the hall.

Thorongil sighed and shook his head and Denethor said, "Good riddance we are finally rid of that pest! Now, perhaps we can have a normal session free of anything… bizarre."

"And pigs will fly," the advisor murmured.

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